


Behind Blue Eyes

by fayolin



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dark Imagery, Dreamscapes, F/F, M/M, Science Experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayolin/pseuds/fayolin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Cuba, the team scrambles to cope as Shaw's death-by-coin shakes Charles to the core.  As they race towards safety, the situation becomes more dire, because it becomes obvious that Shaw may not be completely gone. As the hours tick on, Erik becomes lost in Charles' increasingly terrifying mindscape, and is forced to face memories long forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [XMenBigBang!](http://xmenbigbang.livejournal.com/)
> 
> Warning: this fic contains dark imagery, references to past (underage) sexual abuse, medical experiments/torture, and troubling language about coping with physical disability.
> 
> For beautiful illustrations, check out [starry_ice's beautiful art](http://starry-ice.livejournal.com/76343.html)
> 
> Also, a million thanks to [dreamlittleyo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/) for being an awesome beta, and being the bestest best best ever.

Stopping Shaw was harder than Charles had anticipated. As his mind rushed into the cracks that Erik had shattered in the telepathic void, he sound he only had a bare instant to stop Shaw before he turned the loss of his helmet into an excuse to blow the beach to kingdom come. He poured his powers over Shaw's mind, stopping him from moving any limb more than a hair's breadth, painfully aware that if Shaw managed to move, he would force all of his stored energy into escape.

Even though he was distracted, he still saw through Shaw's horrified eyes that Erik had taken the shielding helmet and placed it on his own head. He hadn't even realized his physical body had yelled until out of the corner of his real eyes, he saw Raven shrink back. He almost turned to comfort her, but as his attention split for that moment, he felt Shaw's mind surge and batter at his control. With neither the time nor the concentration to focus on anything other than the task at hand, Charles closed his ears to the sounds around him and focused on keeping Shaw pinned down.

In his mind's eye, Charles could see the coin coming towards him, and he couldn’t stop it. As powerful of a telepath he might be, he couldn’t affect the world outside of someone's brain. But if he released his hold on Shaw, he would move just enough to let loose his entire nuclear payload all over the beach. And more importantly, right in Erik’s face.

His powers couldn’t sense Erik, even though Shaw could see him. For all Charles' telepathic power, that could be a shaking, crying, murderous statue bearing down on him. He could see that Erik's mouth was moving, but with all of his mind focused on keeping Shaw still and non-nuclear, Charles couldn’t make out the words.

"Don't do this, Erik!" he yelled, his control so tenuous that he could not allow Shaw to even murmur his cries. It was like holding back the flood with his fingertips. And the coin drew ever closer.

The moment the coin pierced Shaw's skin, Charles almost vomited. The pain was so intense that he could hear himself screaming, though the screams sounded like they were coming from miles away. Wave of dizzying pain filled his head so quickly that he almost lost control. The glimmer of Erik, staring, crying, hurting him/Shaw was the only thing keeping him aware. At least, at first.

Charles's mind tried to flee as the pain lanced through it. His fingertips dug into his temple, trying to hold everything together as another sliver of Shaw's brain was carved away. The coin passed through, leaving only an uncomfortable pressure, but the experience did not become more pleasant. As Shaw died, his vision faded to black, and Charles fell with him, feeling the darkness eat away at his mind's eye, his own consciousness sending the panic signals to his body that he could easily follow the madman into death.

Flashes of memory, of the thousands of people Shaw had seen in his life, flooded Charles’ mind. All the pain, the pleasure, the plans and people filled Charles, and he was swept away. Instead of his own life flashing before his eyes, he saw Shaw's, and all of the horrible things the man had done that went with it.

Charles didn't even feel himself hit the floor.

The last fully formed thought that Shaw pushed into the shaking telepath was an image of Erik as a small boy. Charles knew then that Erik was more than a project to the now dying man, perhaps even more than a son. All of the twisted games of power and domination, but also affection and wonderment filled him, and Charles realized his own heart wasn't the only one broken by Erik's coin trick.

But in the end, the thought that was left as Charles lay, momentarily paralyzed on the ruined floor of the plane, was the sick, almost sexual, satisfaction that Shaw felt that his brightest student was taking up his torch. Knowing that even in death Shaw had somehow won, was almost too much for Charles to bear.

The part of Charles' mind that controlled his projections had had enough. As Shaw's last bit of satisfaction caused Charles' groin to tighten in an unwanted physical echo, a corner of his mind rebelled. It pulled back completely, as if since it was unable to separate himself from the echo of Shaw’s dying thoughts Shaw, its only option was shutting down. As it snapped back, Charles felt his mind's eye close, and his consciousness fade as he passed out.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Erik fell to his knees as the coin clattered out the back of Shaw's head. The helmet, a barrier between him and Charles, felt impossibly heavy as he allowed the sobs of pain to rip out of him. He had done it. He had done it at last. His mother was avenged.

As he stared at Shaw (or as he was still known in his nightmares, the doctor Klaus Schmidt) he waited for some sense of relief. He had been honest when he told Charles that he did not expect to find peace in the death of this man, but he had expected to feel anything at all. Perhaps it was this helmet. It kept other thoughts out; maybe, he thought wildly, it was keeping his own thoughts trapped. With shaking hands, he slipped the helmet off.

"Charles?" he said, his usually strong voice quavering in what was left of the reflective room. The helmet felt heavy in his hands, but his mind was silent. No one there. That was worrying. More than Erik felt it should be.

Erik dragged himself up to his feet, and stood there for a moment to gain his bearings. He had to leave this submarine, get back to Charles and the kids, to keep moving. If something was wrong, then he needed to do something now. Because he knew if he stopped, he was not sure he was going to be able to keep going.

Erik dragged Shaw’s body with him, to show the other mutants what he had done. To show that it was over. As he reached out with his metal sense, he found himself reaching farther than he ever had before. It was as if some mental barrier had been pushed away during his struggle with Shaw, and a distance that once was overwhelmingly far was suddenly within him reach. He was lost in the awe of it for a moment, until he realized what he was sensing with his new distance. All those metal guns on all those metal ships were swerving, no longer pointing at each other, but moving to point at the beach. A wild thought of showing the navies that Shaw was dead, that they had nothing to fear surged in him. But as quickly as it occurred to him, Erik swept the idea aside.

It wasn't just Shaw the humans feared. It was mutants. All mutants.

Slipping the helmet back on, Erik knew what he had to do. He had to inspire his fellow mutants to fight back, or they would all be destroyed. Pushing Shaw’s body out in front of him, he straightened himself up. He could be the leader his people needed. To lead these children, he needed to not feel like a lost one himself.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Charles didn't know how long he laid on the floor of the plane. It felt like years, lost in the shadowy mess that was the remains of Shaw's mind.

The first thing he registered was Moira shaking him, telling him that Erik was exiting the sub and that Shaw was dead. Shaking his head to try and clear it, Charles dragged himself upright, and stood in the crash-created doorway of the plane.

Erik was speaking, but the words just weren't penetrating the fog of Charles' mind. Something about guns, and hatred, and that Charles should prove him wrong. He could feel his students looking to him, their thoughts a jumble of fear and confusion. He could not pick out a single thread among them to really understand what was happening. Trying to calm his mind, Charles turned himself away from them and pushed his mind's eye to the water.

For the second time that day, Charles nearly vomited onto the sand. The generals were going to do it. They were going to make sure Shaw was dead, and that there were no witnesses to how close each side had come to nuclear war. But even as he pushed against those terrified, military minds, Charles could feel the ghost of Shaw touching his thoughts, pushing him. He felt himself becoming excited at these pathetic human's fears, and at the thought that with a brush of his mind, he could escalate that fear beyond comprehension.

Charles broke away from that horrible, destructive though to find Erik's eyes, staring at him from under that strangely familiar, yet damnably frustrating helmet. His helmet.

"Well, Charles?" asked Erik, his voice penetrating the sick feeling that was rising in Charles.

Before he could respond, the all of the ships, as if they were a single destructive force, fired at once.

Almost effortlessly, Erik raised his hands, and caught the hundreds of missiles in midair, letting their rockets burn out at a safe distance. Charles felt the part of him that was being pervaded by Shaw rejoice as Erik turned those missiles around and held them, ready.

"You told me that we have it in us to be the better men, Erik," said Charles, focusing his mind on his friend. "Don't do this."

Before he could respond, Charles reached out, and with a gentle hand, touched Erik's shaking, powerful shoulder. Which was really where everything went wrong.

As Charles stood there, Shaw's personality, his memories, his mind pushed itself to the forefront, flooding Charles. Instead of whatever calming dribble that he had intended to say, to try and persuade Erik, he was now no longer even aware that the only thing that came out of his mouth was screaming.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Erik was confident he was doing everything right, until the moment Charles collapsed on the beach, clutching his head and screaming about the darkness, in German no less. In Erik’s panic, a half dozen missiles dropped and exploded, filling the air with a watery mist.

In that moment, many things happened at once. Shaw's teleporter grabbed his comrades and disappeared, leaving only Moira and the students remaining with him and Charles on the beach. Moira had already drawn her gun, aiming it unmistakably at Erik. Finally shocked into action, Raven dragged the other students with her to check on Charles, dodging Erik's outstretched arm as they knelt in. As Raven grabbed onto Charles, his screams turned into a panicked litany of German pleas.

"Maybe you want to put that gun down, human," said Erik, starting to sweat as he reasserted his control over the remaining missiles, letting them hover in the air.

"I can't let you kill those men, Erik," replied Moira, fear and anger in her eyes. "I'm just as angry as you are that they fired, but if you go through with this, neither country will stop hunting you. And you'll be just as wrong as them."

"Then what do you suggest we do? Sit here and wait for them to shoot again?"

"Explode the missiles in midair," growled Hank, looking around at the situation. "With that intensive explosion, their equipment won't be able to figure out what happened. Or better yet, explode them in the water, and use the force to disguise our exit from the beach. By the time they figure out what happened, we'll be long gone. If they can figure out what happened at all."

"You expect us to run like cowards, after saving the world from Shaw’s plans?" said Erik, the missiles shaking with his anger.

"He expects us to protect each other," spat Raven, as she stroked Charles' hair and glared up at Erik. "In case you didn't notice, we have a problem on our hands. Unless murdering those soldiers is more important than helping Charles, I suggest you listen."

Erik looked at Charles, his face slicked with sweat, his hysterical babbling become less and less coherent by the moment, and then back out at the ships. These men had tried to kill him for his help. He would not forget it. But the children were right.

Turning to Hank, he narrowed his eyes in concentration and began to move the missiles again. "Since you have the plan," said Erik, starting the first missile exploding high in the air. "Tell me where to put them. Then tell us how we'll escape."

"Way ahead of you," said Hank, pushing his thick fingers through his fur. "I think I have an idea."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Five hours later, Erik was sitting across the coffee table from Moira, in the living room of a thinly walled rental cabin. Alex, Sean and Hank had all crashed out in the large bedroom in the back, while Raven had carried the unconscious Charles into the front bedroom and locked the door. There was a small attic bed that Moira would claim once she had wound down enough to be able to sleep, leaving Erik the floral couch he was sitting on to rest his weary head.

It had been surprising to Erik how quickly Hank pulled a plan together once the group had decided to run. Hank directed Erik to dance the missiles in the air, giving the group as long and as loud of a diversion as possible. By the time Erik had finished, Hank had put together an outboard motor to attach to an emergency raft from the plane, and Alex and Sean had made a proper mess of the rest of the beach. For all intents and purposes, it would be nearly impossible for anyone to tell that they had fled.

The trip across the water was nerve wracking, every moment filled with the terror that a particularly zealous and observant solider would spot their escape, and they would have to defend themselves. While Charles had stopped screaming, his mental absence was almost another physical presence on the raft, sitting right next to every person on the boat.

To call the conversation strained would have been an understatement.

When they neared the beach, Moira crawled back to Hank, and pointed off into the distance.

"My parents vacationed here when I was a kid," she yelled over the sound of the motor. "There are a bunch of cabins up the coast. With the panic in Cuba, I bet they still have some rooms open. It will give us a place to get some rest, while we plan our next move."

Which brought them to Pleasant Pines Rental Village, too exhausted to do much more than bolt down a pile of quickly made sandwiches and try to get some rest. Even after they got more or less settled in, conversation was still haunted by the telepath unconscious in the front bedroom. The three male students milled around a bit before they succumbed to both the tension and their exhaustion. As the minutes passed, the noise from the room quieted into silence. Moira sat in a hard wooden chair, across from the floral couch, staring intently at the bedroom door. Neither Raven nor Charles had emerged since they had checked in.

Moira looked over at Erik, only to be surprised that he was staring back at her. The glimpse of barely restrained mix of anger and frustration frightened her, but through a force of will, she did not let her discomfort show on her face.

"How safe are we?" asked Erik, his deep voice nearly growling, rough and tight with angry weariness. "Is there anywhere that your people can't find us?"

"No one but me knows the location of the mansion," replied Moira, meeting his intense gaze without a quaver in her voice. "It would be the safest place to return to. Other than that, no one either on the ground or back at base has any reason to know where we are, so for the time being, I think we’re safe."

"It would be wisest to move in small groups," said Erik, breaking the intensity of his brooding glare by looking towards the boys’ room in back. "Hank is going to be a problem."

"I should be able to sneak him north," said Moira. "It won’t be easy, but he'll be able to help. He's a bright young man."

"That he is."

"Alex and Sean should be no problem, and Raven…"

"We're dancing around the elephant in the room," said Erik, turning back to look Moira in the eye. "What are we going to do about Charles?"

"I imagine you'll forgive me if I ask you to leave me behind," said a surprise voice from the door of the front bedroom. As the door opened, out walked a haggard looking, exhausted Charles.

In one movement, Erik and Moira stood up and rushed forward. Charles walked a step towards them, still shaking, and held up a hand to forestall them before they got too close. He face was drawn, tired, but determined.

"I'm sorry to let you down, my friends," said Charles, not quite making eye contact with either Moira or Erik. "But I’ll be in no condition to travel for a couple of days. You will all have to make it back on your own."

"What happened, Charles?" asked Moira, her arms crossed over her chest to keep herself from surging forward. "And why would we leave?"

"I…can't talk about it," said Charles, his eyes flickering up to Erik, and then back down. His voice was unsteady, and strangely hesitant for someone who was normally a confidant speaker. "But I am going to be less than useless until I can get myself back together. And frankly, none of you can be any help to me in this.""

"Whatever you need, my friend," said Erik, regarding Charles with a measured look. "I'm sure you will let us know if there’s anything we can do."

"Of course," said Charles, uncharacteristic relief in his voice as he turned to leave the room, almost as if he was pleased to be rid of them. "I'll keep Raven with me. Hopefully, we’ll only be a couple of days behind you."

"Charles," said Moira, stepping towards the obviously weak man, visibly upset as he pulled back from her. "We need your help in figuring out what to do next!"

"I'm sure you can come up with a workable plan without me," replied Charles, his tone shifting from exhausted and skittish to harsh and biting. "Without going into details that you do not need to know, you lot will just be a drain on me in my current state. And to be honest, it will be hard enough getting through tonight with you around. I must take my leave. If you'll excuse me?"

Without another word, Charles turned and walked back into the room, locking the door behind him and leaving Erik and Moira standing at loose ends.

"That was…," Moira trailed off, walking back towards the front room, gripping the back of the chair she had been sitting on. "I mean, I'm glad he's awake, but…"

"I'm sure he's just tired," said Erik, still looking at the door. Pulling his eyes away with visible effort, he looked at Moira with some kindness. "Perhaps he has the best plan. We should get some rest."

"Aren't you the least bit concerned?" asked Moira, turning towards Erik, anger burning in her eyes. "I know today has been hard, but Charles has never hidden himself away before. He doesn't sound like the man I know."

"Maybe he's not hiding," said Erik, his voice reasonable and calm. "Maybe he's just trying to keep everyone safe. In any case, nothing can be done about it tonight."

Moira closed her eyes momentarily, and then let out a significant sigh. Without meeting Erik's eyes again, she turned to go to bed.

"You may be right," said Moira, heading towards the final unclaimed bedroom. "Perhaps this will all make more sense in the morning. Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight."

Erik listened as Moira's footsteps faded into the darkened cabin. As she dissapeared, the false veneer of confidence that Erik had tried to raise was swept away. Laying back on the couch, Erik attempted to take his own advice. But as he lay there, the conversation with Charles rolled around in his head. As he allowed his eyes to close, Erik felt the weight of the day crash down around him. Shaw was dead, and Charles wasn't there. Erik felt more lost than he had in years, and there was no safe harbor in sight.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Moira emerged from her room in the morning, Alex, Sean and Hank were all sitting in the living room, faces solemn and haggard. In the kitchen was a pile of baked goods, paper plates, and cartons of juice. As she walked in to the main area, Hank perked up and stood to greet her.

"Erik is out doing some recon," said Hank, gesturing to the spread of food. "He’s already been out for supplies, and decided to walk to the train station to get today's schedule so we can plan our routes. He told us to let you sleep until he got back."

"Did he tell you about Charles?"

"Yes," said Alex, still looking at his hands. "But he didn't need to. Charles came out and told us to head out as soon as possible, because we would just be a burden to his recovery."

"It wasn't that bad, Alex," muttered Sean, rubbing his arms unconsciously. "He just seems…"

"Tired?" finished Moira, her eyes dark. "Yeah, he told us the same last night."

"We should give him the space he needs," said Hank, at rubbing the soft fur on the back of his hands. "He said he's going through something that we can't understand.”

No one had any good response to that, so they lingered in silence, all of them trying not to look back at Charles' door. It was good for the collective mood that Erik picked that moment to walk in, his arms filled with clothes.

"These should help," said Erik, unceremoniously dumping the clothes on the floor. Reaching down, he picked up an oversized trench coat and handed it to Hank. "While I would normally not encourage you to hide yourself, I feel this may aid your travels."

"Where did you find all this?" asked Moira, as the boys dug into the rest of the assortment of overcoats, shirts, and trousers.

"Nowhere around here," said Erik, reaching over to grab a roll from the counter. "And no place that will miss them in the long run. A local theater was doing some laundry, and I borrowed a few things off the line."

"You STOLE them?"

"If you need to fix it, we can send them a check from New York," said Erik, in a dismissive tone. "The address is sewn into the labels. However, I think we'll all feel better when we have a familiar roof under out heads. Speaking of which, here."

Out from his back pocket, Erik pulled out four train tickets. Two left for New York in an hour, and the other two left for South Carolina later in the afternoon, with transfers to New Jersey.

"There should get you back within easy distance of the mansion," continues Erik, leaning against the counter. "They leave at staggered intervals, so that we aren't moving in one large group. Or if you rather, they can be refunded, and you can figure out another way to get north."

"What about you?" asked Hank, looking down at the ticket.

"I'm not going back just yet," said Erik, looking out the window at the path outside. "I want to make a sweep for the other mutants who fled from the beach. If I can get some useful information in the next couple of days, then I'll meet you in New York. Otherwise, I'll be a little longer, hopefully tracking some leads down."

The boys took the tickets, and stared at them wordlessly, as if grateful that something about these crazy couple of days made sense. Only Moira looked unconvinced.

"Are you sure this is a good plan?" she asked. "If the information is so important, maybe you shouldn't be here alone."

"I think it's more important you use your skills in getting our home base secure," said Erik, ignoring Moira's unspoken questions. "Between you and Hank, you'll be able to rebuild the damage, especially with Alex and Sean to help you out."

Moira gave Erik a sharp look, which he returned with a quirked eyebrow. Erik picked up a glass and brought it to his lips, and stared stoically ahead. She looked at him, and then at the boys sitting with their tickets. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath. When she opened them again, she turned away from Erik and addressed the rest of the room.

"We should pack up and get moving, boys," said Moira. As she hurried past, Alex and Sean leapt to their feet and rushed to the back room with a handful of clothes each. Hank lingered, his eyes on the locked bedroom door.

"Yes?" asked Erik, taking a sip of juice.

"What about Raven?" asked Hank, his voice hushed, concern plain in his eyes. "I know she's sticking around to help Charles, but are you sure she's going to be ok?"

Erik patted Hank on the shoulder, his expression softening.

"Don't worry, old boy," said Erik, setting things down. "I haven't forgotten about her. You have my word, I'll make sure she gets back in one piece."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Erik watched from a park bench as Alex and Sean boarded their train to South Carolina. He sighed to himself, spinning a US quarter over his thumb. With the last of the kids on their way back to the mansion, it was time to figure out what was really going on.

It took him a little less than a half hour to return to the cabin, just as the light was beginning to soften into evening. He looked up at the cabin, too large now for its two remaining occupants, and took a deep breath. Cracking his neck to try and relieve the tension that was building in his shoulders, Erik let the breath go. It was time.

Stepping heavily on the front porch to shake the grit off his shoes, Erik fumbled loudly at the door for a moment longer than he needed to, and walked in. Standing at the counter, with his hands filled with pastries, was Charles, a panicked look in his eyes. Erik strode in and shut the door behind him. Within the time span of a few heartbeats, he closed the distance between himself and Charles with great loping steps.

"Er-r-rik!" stuttered Charles, his eyes wild with surprise. "What are you…"

He was interrupted as Erik swept him up in an embrace, claiming his mouth in an unexpected kiss.

Charles tensed up, tried to pull away, but Erik pressed him against the counter, his mouth devouring the shorter man's with increasing heat. Between one heart beat and the next, Charles relaxed into the kiss, his hands gripping the fabric of Erik's shirt. Erik broke away, but kept his mouth close to Charles' as his whispered:

"It's hard to know how someone kisses, isn't it Raven?"

Charles-Raven broke away, shifting back into her blue-form. Fury made her eyes shine bright as she glared up at Erik.

"How did you know?"

"You almost had me fooled, I will admit," said Erik, allowing some distance between them. "Even though you didn't react to the thoughts that I was focusing at you, it stands to reason that if Charles was in serious trouble, he might not be able to either. It was actually the lack of a second set of footsteps from the room last night that gave you away. You may look like Charles, you step much lighter than him in the dark."

Raven went back to the counter and grabbed the food she had dropped when Erik had come in. In the long moments that she took gathering the pastries, she gathered her wits as well, and when she turned back to Erik, her eyes were guarded.

"It's not safe for you to be here," she said, looking him straight in the face. "But as long as you _are_ here, my guess is I'm not going to get rid of you. And you probably want know what’s going on."

"That would be a bit of an understatement," said Erik, walking past Raven, towards the back bedroom. Raven stopped him, her arm flying out to grab his arm. Erik paused, and slowly looked up her arm to her face, his own expression blanking with a slowly mounting fury.

"Erik," said Raven, meeting his eyes with firm resolve. "Please. He's just over-extended himself. If you go in there without knowing what Charles is capable of…” She trailed off.

"What will happen?" asked Erik, sharply. To his surprise, frustrated tears fell down Raven's cheeks.

"You could die."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Erik handed Raven a mug of coffee and sat next to her on the couch. Raven stared at her hands, both curled on either side of the mug, and tried to get herself back under control. The last dozen or so hours had been terrifying. While she was holding Charles into the raft, between one wave and the next, she felt herself drawn into his mind. Not the voice-like quality of him communicating with her thoughts, or the full body paralysis of his commands, but something more akin to drowning in the ocean of his telepathy.

It was dark, and cold, but within the long moments of thoughtless time, she was suddenly sitting beside Charles. It was nighttime on the Westchester estate, and they sat in the hay of the barn, the straw somehow not scratching as they leaned back to look at the ceiling. They were both young, and they were both scared, but she was still Raven and he was Charles. When he looked over at her, while she knew she should feel fear, she was not afraid. At least, not of Charles.

"I brought you back here, Raven," said Charles, running his young fingers through his hair, hair that never was allowed to grow that long when he was young. "Because I need to you remember what happened when we were kids."

Raven looked around. The barn. How could she forget this evening, she wondered. She still had nightmares about it.

"I'm sorry, Raven," replied Charles to her thoughts. "But I think this has happened again. And it's even worse this time."

Raven looked at Charles, and watched him grow older, into the man she knew. His eyes were shadowed and their surroundings melted away, into a cold white room with a large, heavy table in the center. The table had thick leather straps, flung open, ready and waiting for their next guest. I don't know where this is, thought Raven, unable to look away.

"Neither do I," said Charles, almost under his breath. "But I need you to help me."

Anything, Charles.

"I can't trust myself to have anyone near me when I'm like this. Even now, I feel this…darkness…trying to pull you in with me. Keep the others away. I'll find my way through."

A door crashed behind them, and the sound of heavy steps filled the air. As Raven looked over, a looming, shadowy man filled the doorway, his hands filled with sharp, terrifyingly large instruments. In a language Raven didn’t understand, the figure crooned a sing-song question, and laughed. Raven felt her blood run cold as Charles’ breath hitched response. She turned towards him, as his sandy hair darkened and his blue eyes faded to grey.

"Go! Before it's too late!"

Raven came back to herself, shaking and shaken, still floating safely in the ocean. From what she could tell, no one had noticed her shared vision with Charles. And if she was going to keep them safe, she thought, she was going to have to keep the others from contact with Charles at all.

She had seen this once before, of course. By morning, Charles should be back to himself.

But in the morning, things were worse. She took on Charles' form and convinced the rest of the team to leave, but with each passing moment, Charles' condition worsened. She had managed to get his body to drink some water, but as her bare skin neared his, she could see the nightmare lab table, and hear the screams. She thought she was going mad when Erik returned.

Now, Erik was sitting with her, getting more and more impatient with every passing moment. She knew she was going to have to come clean with him, but aside from Charles, she had never opened up like this to anyone. Erik’s seething anger was not making her feel comfortable.

"Why did you come back?" she asked, looking over at Erik.

"I figured that there was a reason you needed everyone else gone, but I couldn't just leave you here to deal with it on your own. I respect privacy, but I also need to make sure our team is safe." Erik leaned back into the couch. He then looked her in the eye, and with a gaze that could not be denied, he asked the question that she had been dreading. "What is wrong with Charles?"

"I told you earlier, he's over extended himself," she said, her expression blank, carefully setting the coffee down. "He'll be fine by morning."

"Bullshit." said Erik, as he stood up, his patience at an end. He grabbed Raven's arm and yanked her to her feet. "The others might have chosen to believe your puppet show before, but you and I both know that this is more that simple exhaustion. Why won't you tell me?"

"Because I think you did it," she hissed, wrenching her arm back. Erik looked as if she had slapped him, but did not didn’t protest. "Or had a hand in it. I've seen this happen before."

Erik walked away, towards the cracked bedroom door. As he reached the door, he could hear Charles's labored breathing, and he stopped. The telepath was no longer murmuring, but it was clear that some kind of mental battle raged beneath the surface. After a moment, Erik reached for the door, when Raven interrupted him with a cough.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," she said, gesturing again to the empty seat on the couch. From the look on her face, she was resolved to do something, though what, Erik could not read. "I almost got pulled into that whirling mess earlier. You might not escape as easily. But since I see you’re bound and determined to help, let me tell you what I know."

Erik looked down once more at the door that led to Charles, and his hands cracked with tension at how badly he wanted to push open the door and leave Raven’s explanations behind. Erik knew, however, that if he was to be a help and not another burden, he needed everything Raven could tell him. With once final glance at the door, he turned and joined Raven on the couch.

"Why do you think I did this?" he asked, placing his hand near hers on the couch, attempting to regain some peace between them.

"Because of the things I saw in Charles' mind."

"I don’t understand?"

"I think Charles might have felt it when you killed Shaw."

Erik's heartbeat rushed in his ears. The sight of Shaw's eyes as Erik pushed the coin through his skull still bore down on him. Knowing for certain that Charles, at that moment, was looking out...

"But…Charles must have sensed people dying before…"

"This is more than just feeling a death, Erik," said Raven, placing her hand on his, and looking in his eyes. "As far as I know, this has only happened once to Charles."

Raven stopped suddenly, and looked away. Erik reached up, and with a gentle hand, turned her face back towards his.

"Tell me what happened, Raven. I need to know, if I’m going to help Charles."

Raven took a deep breathe and continued.

"It happened when we were both teenagers," she said, looking out the curtained window, but hers eyes miles and miles away. "For the most part, Charles made sure that I was safe in his home. Our home, I guess. But one summer, his mother hired a gardener, one she had hired before from out of town. Named Woolsworth."

"Woolsworth watched me and Charles, like he knew we were keeping secrets. While Charles had somehow convinced his mother, and the rest of the household that I belonged, something about how Woolsworth acted made me think he suspected something. I thought it was creepy, but Charles brushed it off. He said I just wasn’t used to a stranger's attention, having been fairly isolated after I moved in with him.

"In any case, Charles had his hands full anyway. His grandmother was dying. And in her death, the careful lies that he had woven into his families brains were coming unraveled."

"Something he has gotten better at with time," muttered Erik. "I'm sure."

"I wouldn't know," said Raven, glancing back at him for amoment before letting her gaze swing away. "So, not only was he trying to deal with his mother and step-father's grief, but also poke around in their brains to make sure they still thought I was belonged among them.

"Even though Charles wasn't worried, I still didn't trust the gardener. It was one of the few times Charles was absolutely wrong, and I was unconditionally right."

Raven lapsed into silence, her eyes distant and flickering, no longer seeing the cabin.

"What happened?" asked Erik quietly, trying not to disturb her thoughts. She closed her eyes for a moment, and started to tell her story. Erik could almost see the events unfold in his mind's eye.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 _The Westchester Estate, years earlier_

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The kitchen was always a special place for Raven. Even years after she was given free rein of the large Westchester house, the thrill of being able to walk into the kitchen, and grab whatever she wanted, never failed to brighten her often temperamental disposition. If she was able to do so without being noticed, all the better. And on the hottest days, the special treat of lemonade from the very back of the fridge was often her desired goal.

This weekend, it was particularly easy to get into the kitchen, because the maids that usually worked for the family were gone for a wedding. They had left an assortment of cold meats, cheeses, and snacks for the children to tide themselves over until they returned. Charles and Raven had the house to themselves that afternoon, even though Charles' sick grandmother had taken a turn for the better. Sharon, Charles' mom, had decided against taking her overly sensitive son along for a day of waiting among the dead and dying for the old woman to be released form the hospital, even though Kurt had no such compunction with dragging his real son Cain along. Raven was enjoying the relative freedom of the empty mansion. She enjoyed practicing sneaking and getting around when the consequences for being found were nothing, rather than the continued sighs and disapproving glances from the help.

As Raven opened the fridge, she was happy to see the desired target of her search; the cold pitcher of lemonade. It was filled to within an inch of the top, most likely untouched by any other person in the house. Charles never really appreciated the lemonade, having always had the freedom of perusing a kitchen whenever he pleased, but to Raven, it meant the lemonade was a never not a luxurious treat.

She poured herself a large glass, and replaced the pitcher in the fridge. Even though no one was around to notice, she was careful to make sure that the only thing that would show she had been there was the lower level of lemonade in the pitcher. Taking the glass in both hands, she walked out to the patio to sit in the shade. On her way by, she saw there was a bowlful of tart raspberries, left out from breakfast. With a snatch, she stuffed her mouth, and scurried outside.

Even though the Xaviers were wealthy enough that certain rooms in their house were cooled, they were also cheep enough that when most of the people were out of the house, the machines stayed turned off. Raven could barely stand to be inside, where the air seemed to thicken with every minute of sun that beat upon the house. Even though the outside was just as oppressively warm, being able to sit under the shade of a willow tree made the day more comfortable.

As she settled, Raven took a huge drink of the lemonade, downing nearly half the glass. It tasted sweet going down, but after she swallowed, there was an oddly bitter aftertaste. She ran her tongue alone her teeth, trying to place what was wrong. Had the lemons gone bad? Or was is some kind of sugar substitute? She took another big gulp, but the strange taste was still there.

As she looked at the lemonade, she felt her head begin to swim. It was almost as if someone had dropped her into syrup, her limbs seemed to be moving sluggishly and her mind was matching pace. The edges of her vision darkened, and the last thing she felt was the glass slipping out of her hand and spilling down the hill.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Raven woke, she wasn't sure where she was. It looked like a barn loft, but she was not sure if it was the one on the edge of the Westchester estate. Her hands were tied behind her back, and attached to some kind of wooden poll. Her ankles were tied to a large metal ring that was bolted to the floor, and a wad of cloth had been shoved in her mouth, and attached with a silk scarf. To her left was a large wooden crate, big enough to hold a person, and a small table with four cameras sitting in a row.

"They told me I was crazy," said a deep male voice from the shadows. From the darkness behind Raven, Woolsworth emerged, with another camera in his hand, his eyes wild with excitement. "But I knew I was right. And now I have proof."

He suddenly stopped, and looked down at Raven, whose eyes were as wide as saucers. As he looked her over, his gaze as heavy as a hand dragging across her body, his smile grew more fevered, more terrifying.

"They told me things like you weren't real, but I knew that there was something weird about you. I've been a gardener here for fifteen years, and I didn't remember a baby girl being born. I returned from visiting my parents, and suddenly you were there, and everyone thought you had always been. So I've been watching you, and I noticed you’re always hanging around the little weirdo, and keeping out of sight of everyone. But I didn't know you were a monster."

He reached down and touched her cheek, twisting one finger in her hair. In horror, Raven realized that the hair he was twirling wasn’t her normal disguised blonde locks, but her natural red ones. She jerked her head away, eliciting a deep, sinister chuckle from Woolsworth.

"Yes, my little monster, I know you can change your appearance. I'm not sure how you made everyone think you belonged, but I don't need to. I've got an interested party that is going to set me up for life, just so he can figure these little things out. And all I have to do is get you across the border in one piece."

Raven trembled and tried to yell, but the cloth muffled the sounds. If anything, her struggles just made Woolsworth smile wider. He kneeled beside her and placed his hot, heavy hand on her knee. Raven felt a sick shiver go up her spine as she watched Woolsworth's expression shift from amusement to something darker.

"'In one piece' has a lot of connotations," he said, his hand rubbing harshly up her thigh. "Maybe you and I can have some fun before we get on the road."

" _Get away from her, you **animal**_ ," yelled a young man's voice. It seemed to come from every direction at once. Woolsworth straightened suddenly and his hands flew to his head, clutching at his skull as if it was about to explode. All the muscles in his body began to contort, but not a sound escaped from his mouth. Before Raven could get truly terrified by what was happening, Charles' head popped up through a doorway in the floor, one hand plastered over his temple. Raven had never been happier to see anyone in her life.

When Charles saw Raven tied to the post, his whole face grew dark and tight. After pushing the door all the way open, Charles climbed out of the holes and walked over to Woolsworth, who was still writhing on the floor. For a long moment, Charles just stared at him. The only sign of effort was his hands tightening until his knuckles whitened. Then, with a grunt from Charles, Woolsworth's eyes rolled up in the back of his head, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Raven sat there, stunned as the echo of Woolworth's collapse resonated through the room. Before she could put two thoughts together about it, Charles was kneeling beside her, tugging at the ropes around her mouth. He was almost in tears before he got them untied.

"I was so worried," he said, as Raven spat the last of the cloth out of her mouth. "I couldn't find you anywhere, and then all of a sudden I heard you in my head, and you didn't know where you were, and never do this to me again!"

"I didn't exactly plan this," said Raven, both relieved and irritated with Charles' overflowing of emotions.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry," said Charles, dropping the rope he was untying and awkwardly hugging Raven. " I was just so worried."

"It's ok," said Raven. "Just help me get untied."

Charles kept untying, and kept getting angry, then apologizing, and Raven would try and calm him down until she started to panic. Then Charles would sooth her, and they would start all over again. After a while, Raven was free, and both of them were crying and babbling apologies for the tiniest slights. Sitting in the straw in a darkened barn, they hugged each other until they both felt drained. After many long minutes, Raven took a deep breathe, and pushed her brother away.

"As much as this is a great family bonding moment," sad Raven, her voice thick with tears and false bravado. "We need to get out of here. This whole place is giving me the creeps."

"You are absolutely right,” said Charles, helping Raven to her feet. Now facing the front of the barn, she was able to see where she was at last.

It had gotten a lot darker since Raven had last seen the sky. As they left the barn's loft, she recognized it as a building just on the other side of the Westchester estate, a building she had assumed belonged to one of the farms nearby. As she and Charles reached the ground at the bottom of the ladder, she saw the familiar crest above the door, marking it as part of the Xavier Estate. Raven tried not to roll her eyes. Every time she thought she knew what belonged to the Xaviers, she was surprised.

Raven welcomed the silence as they moved through the barn, calmer now. Until Charles tried to talk about what had happened.

"You know," said Charles, as they walked past the empty horse stalls. "I am very much surprised that Woolsworth ended up being such a creep."

"I don't know why," said Raven. "I told you a hundred times that he's always been a little off."

"I don't remember any of that!"

"Of course you don't. You thought I was being silly and dismissed it."

"I did not!"

"Charles!" said Raven, stopping in her tracks and glaring at him. "I think if _anything_ came out of this night, it should be that I am _occasionally_ not _utterly_ useless when it comes to people!"

Whatever Charles was about to say was interrupted by a huge shadow rising behind him. Raven felt her face go slack with fear, and her voice froze.

"What is it…" said Charles, before Woolsworth's large hand knocked him to the ground, causing him to crumple like a broken doll. Totally ignoring the fallen boy, Woolsworth took a step towards Raven, his face livid with anger.

"Come here, you monster," he growled, his face twisting in the moonlight. "We have some unfinished business."

Raven waited no longer. Turning on her heel, she fled across the straw strewn floor, trying to keep ahead of the man crashing behind her. She weaved through the farm equipment, knocking over anything she could get her hands on to try and slow down her pursuer. But no matter how much she scrambled, Woolsworth was always a step behind her, his voice deafening, his steps like jackhammers.

Blinded by panic, she scrambled back up the ladder, to the edge of the balcony, hoping to take the hay-rope down to the ground and escape. But as she neared the end of the wooden planks, Woolsworth grabbed her and threw her to the ground. Raven clawed at the floor, trying to get free, but with one swift movement, Woolsworth flipped her on her back, and slammed her into the ground.

As Raven lay there, stunned, Woolsworth wrapped his hands around her neck and started to squeeze. Raven wasn't sure if he was trying to kill her, stop her, or if his anger had caused all thoughts to leave his mind. She clawed at his hands, but they wouldn't budge.

In a panicked moment, Raven shifted to the tallest person she could think of, one of the maid's nephews, Robert. With his longer legs, she was able to get the right angle to hit Woolsworth right in the middle of his crotch. In his pain-filled moment of distraction, she was able to lever her now-longer legs to toss Woolsworth off of her, where he landed in a pile of rigging ropes just to the side of their furious struggle.

While the blow stunned him, Woolsworth was not down. Even though he was tangled in the ropes, he tried to surge forward, to get a hand on Raven. Hoping to pull him off balance again, Raven grabbed a rope in front of her and pulled as hard as she could.

Somehow, luck finally shone on Raven. The rope she grabbed somehow looped around Woolsworth's neck, pulling him backwards. But what should have been a deterrent only seemed to spur the madman on. With each pull, the rope tightened, but Woolsworth gained a little ground. Unless something changed, Raven was not going to be able to hold on.

Suddenly, Woolsworth froze, as if something was holding all of his muscles very still. From below, Raven heard Charles make a sound of exertion, and figured he was holding Woolsworth off with his powers. Breathing a sigh of relief, Raven let the rope slacken slightly.

As soon as the rope slackened, however, Woolsworth seemed to regain some power over his body. He reached towards her again. In a panic, she pulled tighter and held on. As she watched, the rope cut into his neck, and his face turned red, then purple, and finally black. With a shudder, Woolsworth dropped to the ground, falling through the rope like sand through fingers. Without thinking, Raven turned him over. Instead of surging forward and tackling her, his tongue sagged out of his mouth, and he was utterly still. As raven looked down at him, she realized what she had done. He was dead.

As Raven backed away from the corpse, she heard a groan from Charles. Quickly fleeing the balcony, she rushed to Charles' side, effortless shifting back to her normal disguise.

Charles was half sitting, leaning up against a barrel, holding a bleeding gash on the side of his head from where Woolsworth had struck him. His eyes fluttered open and shut, and he was obviously holding onto consciousness by inches. Raven looked around, and grabbing what looked like a clean strip of cloth, tried to stop the worst of the bleeding.

"We need to get back to the house," said Raven, helping Charles to his feet. She was a little surprised that his hand slipped from her shoulder to brush the top of her collarbone.

"We don't need to go that far, baby," said Charles, his voice lower than usual. "There's plenty of room around here."

"What are you talking about," said Raven, turning to look at him. "This isn't funny, Charles."

"You don't see me laughing," said Charles, his voice dipping into a growl. His normally blue eyes flashed something darker, and his grip around her shoulder tightened.

Raven pushed Charles away, just as he shoved himself away from her. As Raven gaped in horror, Charles gripped his head and started to mutter to himself too low to be understood. He fell to his knees, still ranting nonsense, until he stopped between one breath and the next.

He looked up at Raven, his eyes now blue and haunted, both hands clasped to his head.

"I can't fight him and stay here," he said, his voice hollow and terrified. Then, without another word, he pitched back, falling to the ground unconscious.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Raven fell silent for a long moment, staring off into the distance. She grew still and calm, obviously reliving that night in vivd memory.

"What happened then?" asked Erik, trying to gently shake her out of her reverie.

"I panicked. I didn't want to leave Charles, but I didn't know what I could do. There was no one close enough to help us. I had to carry him back myself.

"The going was difficult. Every so often I could feel something on the edge of my mind, like he was trying to pull me into his mindscape. I could see a dark, blackened wood. When I felt myself being pulled in, I’d have to shake Charles out of it, by yelling, or stomping, or at one point, running us into a tree.

"When I finally got Charles back to the mansion, I felt like I had run a marathon. I got him to his bed, and found a maid to come take care of him. I told her some story about how he had fallen, and either she bought it, or she didn't care, because she ran off to help him. I thought I was in the clear, until I heard her scream.

"I rushed to Charles’ room, and I found the maid lying on the floor, curled in a ball, eyes open and unseeing. I rushed toward Charles. The walls begin to fade into the darkened woods from before, but I tried to keep focused on where I was. I got to Charles as the maid started to yell about the dark man coming, and I could see the shadow of Woolsworth stomping through the woods, chasing her towards us.

"And then it all stopped. The maid woke up and shuffled blankly out of the room. Charles opened his eyes for a moment, and looked straight at me, and his eyes were his own again. By the end of the evening, he had beaten whatever Woolsworth had left behind in his brain, but I don't know how he did it."

"Didn't you ask him?" Erik said.

"Of course I asked him." Raven rolled her eyes in frustration. "I had been through just as much as he had. But he told me he didn't remember, and even if he did, he wouldn't tell me. I only know something horrible happened in his head trying to save my life. Eventually, I let it drop. We learned to be more careful, and we moved on."

Raven looked over to Erik, her story over. Erik let the information sink in, and attempted to order his thoughts. One detail nagged at him.

"So, that took what, five hours for Charles to recover?" Erik asked, looking back to the room where Charles lay dreaming. "It's been considerably longer than that now."

"You think I don't know that?" said Raven, her voice rising, tears leaking from her eyes. "Charles never takes _longer_ to do something the second time than the first! I tried to make contact with him again, but I hit a mental wall. If he doesn't let me in, I don't know what to do!"

Erik took Raven into a well-meaning, but extremely awkward hug. She stiffened at first, but then relaxed into his shoulder.

"We'll have to figure it out together," he said into her hair. "You said when you touched him before, he communicated with you? That you saw some kind of vision?"

"Yes, he was in a room with a horrible person who was approaching," said Raven, her brow furrowing in concentration. "He spoke in some harsh sounding language, in a sing-song tone. The room looked like a creepy doctor's office, and in the center there was a hard table with leather straps."

Erik felt his blood chill in his veins, and his hands tightened at Raven's back. She pulled away from him, and looked him in the eye, but he spoke before she could ask any questions he could not afford to answer. "Maybe if I touch him, and I see what he's thinking, I can help him from the inside."

"You might be powerful, Erik," said Raven, gentle scorn in her voice. "But you are not a telepath. How do you think you’ll be able to affect his mind?"

"Well, if you’re right about my part in this," said Erik, sounding confident than he felt. "Maybe my presence will be enough. I…may have been in the room you saw. I can help."

"But what if you're wrong?"

"Then I'll have tried," said Erik, standing up and brushing off his pants, gathering his gumption to make a move. "In any case, he's my friend. One of a small number. I cannot sit by and simply _hope_ he recovers."

Raven looked to him, to see if there was any judgment in his words, and when she found none, she nodded. Someone had to do something, and she did not have the resources. Perhaps Erik did.

"We don't know how long it could take," she said, though she made no move to stop Erik as he moved towards the door. "Even if he lets you in, it could be hours before you find him, let alone help him start back. If you get lost…."

"Don't think about that," said Erik, tossing her a grin with more confidence than he felt. "We'll both be back before you know it."

Raven still wasn't convinced, but Erik was obviously out of patience. With a sigh, she stood up and walked over to Erik, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"Until midnight," she said, looking out the window at the now-darkened sky. "It seems fitting, like in on of those fairy tales Charles used to believe in. If you aren't back by then, I'll have to get creative. And you probably will not enjoy it."

"With incentive like that, I can't possibly fail," said Erik, placing a small kiss on the edge of her hairline, before entering the room. "Rest easy. I'll get Charles back."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Erik didn't know what he was expecting when he saw Charles in that bed. At best, he supposed, he thought he'd just see the younger man laying, as if asleep, nightmares furrowing his brow. At worst…perhaps more furrows? In any case, he had not been expecting what he found.

Charles lay in the middle of the bed, surrounded by what was left of the sheets. The sheets were torn and flecked with blood, slicked and stuck to the still-bleeding scratches on his arms. His face, even in sleep, was twisted and restless, seeing worlds beyond the walls. His lips were dried and cracked, his eyes caked with the salty remains of tears. Deep dark circles, dark enough to look like paint, nearly painted a picture of where his eyes would be, if his lids weren't cemented shut. While it was clear that he had thrashed around the bed, at the moment the only motion was from his face, contorting in some unknown fear.

A half-step into the room, Erik ran into what he could only describe as a wall of pure feeling. He had to stop himself from running out of the room, the sheer panic wafting off Charles causing his heart to race. He reminded his boy that the sense of panic was coming from outside his head, and he was able to hold his ground. With resolution he stepped forward, each hairsbreadth forward a push back against the terror that crashed into him from Charles’ unconscious mind. After long minutes, he finally made it to the side of Charles' bed and sat, his body covered in sweat before he had even tried to begin.

Erik raked his hand through his hair, already wet with sweat. The words that Charles had muttered earlier ran through his head. The darkness, or to be more accurate, _die Dunkelheit_. When Erik was a young man under the control of Shaw, he remembered the small room he was kept in between experiments. The room Shaw almost lovingly called _die Dunkelheit_. His fingers ached at the memory of the nights he clawed against that door, hoping that this night Shaw would have forgotten to lock the door, that he could escape. That opportunity never came, really. Even after he had escaped Shaw, he was always haunted by the fact that Shaw was out there. Even after his death, Shaw was still controlling him in a way: only in looking down at Charles did Erik realize he might truly never be free.

One thing Erik did know, however, was that he could not let Charles face Erik’s memories alone. Pushing his fear and doubts aside, he twisted his torso to lean over Charles and look down into his face. Before he could give himself a chance to change his mind, he placed his hands on either side of Charles' head and closed his eyes.

"Charles," said Erik, as his fingers touched the clammy, damp skin of the telepath's face. "Let me in."

Before Erik could take another breath, he was falling, twisting and turning in a place with no walls and no floor. The bed, the cabin, even Charles was gone as he free-fell through strangely luminescent nothingness. Though he felt wind rush by him as he tumbled, he could not see the ground, nor any other landmark to gauge his location. It was as if he had been dropped into space, an empty purgatory.

"Charles!" he yelled, his voice not echoing, but sinking, absorbed into the darkness. "Let me help you! Let me find you! "

"Charles isn't here right now, my little monster," came the deafening, omnipresent voice from Erik's nightmares. In the formless void, the outline of Shaw's cold, hateful eyes appeared, narrowing to focus on Erik. "But you're been a very, very bad childling. _Die Dunkelheit_ is waiting, just for you."

Between one breath and the next, Erik was transported into the hauntingly familiar darkened box of a room, his wrists bound with thick leather straps. As he yanked at his bindings, bile rising in his throat, he saw his arms were not the arms of a strong man, but those of an undernourished, under-exercised child.

Panic bubbled over Erik's already confused mind, overriding years of training that had taken him from the scared little boy he was back then to the man he was today. He was lost in a storm of screaming, tugging, trying more than anything to escape. The bindings held him as hard and fast as they ever had when he was young. His cries were just as futile, his tears just as fruitless. He was trapped.

The door of the closet creaked open, just as it always had, just before the real terror began. The line of piercingly bright light hit him directly in the eye, ruining what little dark vision he had managed to gain. Instinctively he shied back, shrinking into himself, trying, with all the energy he had been using filing to escape, to fade back into the wall, to hide. It wasn't going to work. It never did.

The door was flung open wide, and Erik froze, hoping irrationally that his lack of motion would make him harder to see. With a thick clunk, the leather straps that held his arms loosened, but his fear kept him in place. The lights were so bright he was momentarily blinded, and when the familiar arm reached towards him to yank him into the light, he was helpless to resist. The much stronger man pulled him out of the darkness, and with a casual toss, threw him towards the middle of the room. Erik stumbled into the familiar wooden exam table. His legs still shaking, he was flipped on his back, pinned down, and strapped to the table before his eyes cleared. What he saw a moment later shocked him clear to his core.

Charles stood above him, in the lab coat and thin black glasses that belonged to Shaw, a stethoscope around his neck. With a casual air, he tapped a finger on his lips, which were drawn back in a curious and amused grin.

"Well, Erik," said Charles, his voice sounding exactly like Shaw’s voice from Erik's nightmares. "It seems that you've been a very bad boy. Been using your powers to hurt me, yes?"

"W-w-w-hat is hap—” Erik stuttered, before Charles casually backhanded him across the mouth.

"We've talked about this before, child," continued Charles, walking over to a black box with wires dangling from knobs. At the end of those wires were little clamps, which he took in his hands and gave a trial squeeze. "You'll never learn if you never listen. Now, I'm going to have to teach you another lesson. Hold still."

As if those words released valve inside him, Erik began to thrash back and forth, accomplishing nothing whatsoever. Charles' hands (or were they Shaw's?) deftly unbuttoned his shirt, baring Erik’s chest to the naked air. With another casual blow to the head, Charles stunned Erik again, and in the moment of stillness, attached the little clamps to Erik's nipples.

"Let's try this again," said Charles, going to the black box and turning the knob to 5. "Remove the clamps."

Erik felt the electricity flow through his body, sending waves of pain and something else through him. He tried to focus, but with each wave of electricity his body tensed and writhed on its own. To his horror and his agony, he felt himself getting hard, and through eyes that were filling with pain-fueled tears, he could see the rising evidence beginning to tent his trousers.

"Oh my," said Shaw's voice from Charles' lips, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "Aren't you a healthy boy. Maybe I'm using the wrong tactic."

Charles leaned down to Erik's ear, his nose inches from where Erik’s sweat was pouring off his face and soaking into the table. Charles leaned in, his lips touching the very edge of his earlobe, his breath thundering through Erik’s mind.

"Maybe you enjoy this."

With a jolt, Erik remembered why he was here. This memory, though vivid, was not what he was here to remember. He was here to help Charles, not relive the worst days of his life. With the barest of thoughts, he removed the clamps and wires, and tossed the box across the room.

"Brilliant!" said Charles, still grinning Shaw’s evil smile from ear to ear. "Now, for the next test."

"Charles!" shouted Erik. "You need to snap out of it. You are not Shaw. You are Charles Xavier. You need to remember who you are!"

Charles looked at him, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. He looked down at his hands, and as if he was surprised at what he saw, he flinched away.

"Charles, talk to me," said Erik, pulling at his straps. Whether it was his continued pulling, or thanks to Charles' distress, he managed to get one of his arms free, and used it to work on the rest of the straps. "Hang on Charles. Tell me how to help you."

"Erik?" asked Charles, his voice once again his own. He stumbled forward, and caught himself on a cabinet. "Where are we? What is this place?"

"We're inside your mind, Charles," said Erik, trying to keep his voice calmer than he felt. He was almost free, just two more straps. "You got lost after Shaw died. We need to get out of here."

"Shaw is…dead?" asked Charles, holding his head in confusion, rubbing his fingers across his forehead. "But I just saw him…"

"I killed him, Charles," said Erik, finally freeing himself from the table. When he stood up, he was his normal size again. "My friend, I made you help me."

Charles looked up at Erik, a trickle of blood leaking from the middle of his forehead, in exactly the same place that Erik forced the coin into Shaw's skull. As Erik looked on in horror, the confusion in Charles' eyes faded into a focused glee.

"You made him help, boy?" said Shaw, using Charles' mouth like a speaker. "You're more like me than you think."

In a flash, Charles was strapped to the table, shrinking before Erik's eyes into a boy of no more than 12. No older than he had been when he was at Shaw's mercy. Erik saw his own fear reflected in those young eyes, staring at him with youthful tears streaming down his face.

Without thought, Erik stepped forward to help Charles, but the young boy let out a terrified scream. Erik reached down to undo the straps, but Charles was whipping himself back and forth so much that he couldn't get his hands on the fasteners. He got about half of them free, and suddenly, Charles' flailing arms were everywhere. Erik tried to dodge them and get the rest of the straps loose, but he wasn't quick enough. One of Charles' arms struck him full across his face, hitting the glasses right off the bridge of his nose.

Wait a minute….

Erik saw those glasses slide across the floor, and he lifted one hand to his face. His hand rested on the clammy skin and the pencil-thin mustache just above his trembling lip. Both hands reached for his face now, not recognizing the features as his own. Scrambling across the room, Erik reached towards the small stand mirror that he remembered Shaw kept turned towards the wall, to be used when he wanted to examine his lab-rats more thoroughly. Tossing a tray of instruments across the room, Erik turned the reflected surface towards him. What he saw there froze him where he stood.

In the mirror, he saw Shaw staring back at him, Shaw’s lab coat hanging from his shoulders, the slight indents from Shaw’s pencil-thin glasses on his nose, Shaw’s fine brown suit. In contrast to horror Erik felt mounting in his mind, a sick grin played across his face. He reached up again to touch his face, and the reflection followed, tracing every line and contour. A voice began screaming softly in the back of his head.

"This can't be happening…" said Erik, and his voice was still his own.

"But of course it is," said Shaw in the reflection. "I couldn't have planned it better. Why live in this telepath, when I can live on in my star subject. You."

Erik screamed, a long, loud wail that hurt even his own ears. Throwing the mirror across the room, he barely flinched back when the shards rained down. His cries faltered as he looked over to the table, to see Charles sitting in the remains of his straps, a fully grown man again.

"Erik," said Charles, his eyes clear and filled with concern. "You must let him go. Leave Shaw to me, and get out of here."

"I can't do that," croaked Erik, gripping his own arms, his eyes wild. "I forced you into this. I can't leave you to him."

"You didn't force me into anything I didn't choose," said Charles, stepping off the table and cautiously approaching the twitching, terrified man. "I could have broken away at any time. But it would have meant losing you to Shaw, to his madness and his darkness. I couldn't do that, Erik. I have things under control. Just go."

"You've been unconscious for almost two full days," growled Erik, shying away from Charles' outstretched hand. "That's not what I'd call control."

"Two days? Really?" Charles stopped, his brow wrinkling in surprise. He looked around the nightmare room, as if seeing it for the first time. "I had no idea it has been so long…"

"Shaw is killing you, Charles," snapped Erik, his eyes sweeping the lab with increasing desperation. "I can't leave you here with him. You're not strong enough to handle this."

"I hardly think you are in a position to judge what I can handle," Charles said disapprovingly. He took another step to close the gap between himself and Erik. "I almost have him locked down. Please Erik. Leave, so that I can finish this."

Erik nearly relented, when he felt a sickening joy leap from the back of his head. He froze, and Shaw’s hauntingly familiar laugh bubbled up in his mind. Without a doubt, Erik knew that if he left, Shaw would not be locked down, as Charles so simply said. Shaw would worm his way into the darkest parts of Charles' mind, and he would never, ever die. They would never be free.

Erik was going to have to do something drastic.

Looking around frantically, his eyes lit upon a scalpel, long and sharp. He glanced down at it, then back at Charles. Charles followed his gaze, giving the blade a puzzled look. As Erik reached out and pulled with his powers, the world seemed to slow down, each, as if covered in molasses. Charles' eyes flashed from confusion, to the wide eyes of comprehension, to narrowed eyes of panic as the blade landed in Erik's palm. The blade was pointing inwards, directly towards Erik's heart. Charles looked into Erik's eyes, and saw some cold determination that propelled his body forward, lunging for the knife. But he was too late.

"He can't have you. I'd rather die than let him," said Erik, screwing his eyes shut. Before Charles could stop him, Erik plunged the scalpel into his chest, avoiding his ribs and burying the blade straight into his heart.

Pain exploded through him, and he heard Charles yell as he fell to the ground. Pain pushed through his limbs, followed by the ever more deafening sound of Shaw screaming through his mind. He barely even felt it when Charles gathered him in his arms, and held Erik to his chest. As consciousness faded, he felt himself smile.

Erik slipped into the warm blankness of nothingness, comforted in the fact that he'd done it at last. Shaw was gone.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Erik wasn't sure what he expected after death, but it was not waking in his bed at the mansion, hooked up to various beeping boxes, as the sun started to kiss the eastern window. He tried to sit up, but he found that his body was not responding the way he thought it should. He tried to open his mouth, but he was hindered by the cloth tape holding a thin tube across his nose. He tried to reach up to his face, but his limbs were heavy and listless.

It occurred to him that he should be panicking right now, but forefront in his mind was the feeling of the metal knife scraping past his ribs into his heart. Not the pain, but the sudden awareness of his own insides: an awareness of something one usually takes for granted. Somehow that memory made everything else feel terribly distant.

Or maybe it was something else. As he tried to think it through, he found his mind drifting to consider what other surprises this strange after-death world was going to show him.

Before he could completely form a coherent thought, he heard a scrambling set of footsteps running down the hall, from the direction of Charles' room. He half cocked his head to the side, as far as the tubing would allow, as the footsteps stumbled, momentarily ceased, and were soon followed by a loud thud just outside the door. In his addled state, Erik could not follow the rich wave of obscenities that washed from under the door, but he did catch the general drift.

Before he could concoct some explanation for the noise show, the door to his room burst open, and in came Charles, pajama shirt half unbuttoned, his hair unkempt from sleep. For a long moment, Charles stood there, his chest heaving, looking at Erik, a mix of caution and joy playing about his face. As Erik blinked at him, the caution left Charles' face and was replaced by something more like wonder. Seemingly lifted by a power outside of his body, Charles leapt in the air, pumped his fist, and let out a patently out-of-character cry of joy.

"I take it you’re pleased to see me?" asked Erik, shocked at how raw and unused his voice sounded. He tried to swallow, but found his mouth to be terribly dry. As he tried to lick his lips, Charles rushed forward and grabbed a water glass with a bendy straw from the nightstand. He held it up to Erik's mouth, only to be met with an unamused glare.

"Are you serious?" asked Erik, trying to reach up to take the glass away, but again he found his arms were not quite up to the task. With a sigh, he extended his lips forward and drank from the straw. Charles was kind enough to not laugh.

The water was both the most wonderful, and the most terrible thing that Erik had ever drunk. As the cool liquid poured down his throat, he could feel each small ache and pain, each tiny cut and bruise on his body. Each place where some foreign object was taped to him became perfectly clear to him. He groaned, and closed his eyes.

"Don't you dare!" said Charles, the sharpness in the man's tone causing Erik's eyes to shoot open. Erik was surprised to see Charles clutching the glass, the concern he had glimpsed earlier back again in spades.

It began to occur to Erik that something was not quite right.

"What's going on?" asked Erik, as Charles sat on the side of the bed, looking at various monitors. Nodding at what he found, Charles turned back to Erik.

"You've been in a coma for a month," said Charles, carefully measuring the reaction he found in Erik's eyes. "By the time we got you back to the mansion, you weren't breathing on your own anymore. I was giving you CPR as Hank wired together a sort of a respirator."

"A month?" asked Erik, the absent panic that he had been contemplating before arising suddenly in his throat.

"And that was after we managed to get your heart beating again in Florida…"

"My _what_?" yelped Erik, trying again to sit up. Charles tried to force him back down with a gentle hand, but whatever Charles touched caused a spike of pain through Erik's chest.

All this was a little too much for the weak and battered Erik. Despite Charles' louder and louder pleas for Erik to "stay with" him, Erik found himself drifting back into that warm, dark space. Only this time, he could hear Charles' all the way down to the bottom.

When next he awoke, Erik saw a chagrined Charles, now sitting on the other side of his bed. In the time he’d been under, Charles had kept himself busy removing some of the most irritating of the mechanical devices from Erik's arms. As he looked down, Erik saw that the tube taped to his face, sending a supply of fresh air into his nose, was still firmly attached. He started to scrunch his nose until the tape began to give away, relieving a small amount of the irritation he felt. However, most of the tape remained on his face, now tugging more with the additional weight.

He supposed that this was an improvement. With shaky hands, he reached up to remove the rest.

"Sorry," said Charles, gently helping Erik's hands remove the tube from around his head. "I got a bit carried away back there. It was just that once we had gotten you stabilized in Florida, I realized I couldn't hear anyone in your head."

"I suppose that would have been disquieting," said Erik, softly. His throat still felt raw, but his mind was starting to put things back together, if at an extremely slow pace. "Where's Raven?"

"She'll be in here in a minute," said Charles, still looking with wonder at Erik's face. "I let her know that you were back with us when you took that little nap just now. Fortunately, it was a completely normal sleep, as far as your brain was concerned."

"Fainting spell, you mean," said Erik, taking a deep breath. Something Charles had said worried at the back of his mind. "My heart stopped?"

"I'll have plenty of time to fill you in on the details later. For now, I believe you should brace yourself."

Before Erik could ask what Charles meant, the door flung open again, and there was Raven, her blue skin glowing in the morning sun. She was out of breath, two shopping bags in her hands, a fall coat around her shoulders. So different from the standoffish, angry girl Erik had negotiated with in the cabin in Florida, Raven's face was an open book of joy. Only by supreme force of will, Erik surmised, was he not taken up into the biggest hug that the young lady could manage. Instead, she sat on the side of the bed and, oh-so-gently, placed her hand on the side of his face. He found himself returning the gesture, his hand still shaking. As tears ran out of her eyes, Erik found that his own responded in kind. No words were spoken, but he supposed none were needed.

As Charles gently took Erik's other hand in his, Erik was surrounded by something he had not been expecting to find again. And as they sat, the sun rising higher in the window, he wished this perfect moment could last forever.

"He's awake!" yelled Sean, his naturally loud voice needing no mutant amplification to shatter the moment. The resulting thunder of footsteps led Erik to believe that the rest of the mansion had been hovering, lying in wait until something happened.

Raven deftly wiped the tears from his cheeks, before scrubbing at her own, and Charles, the consummate gentleman, passed her a tissue. By the time the thundering herd had arrived all physical evidence of the moment was gone. But in their hearts, it remained.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Over the next couple of days, Erik got an account, more or less complete, of what had happened. After his rather dramatic foray into Charles' mind-space, Charles woke up, only to find that Erik's heart had stopped beating. Despite having been comatose mere moments before, Charles managed to beat the life back into Erik, with the help of a terrified and tired Raven. This still lest the question of returning to Westchester.

Apparently, Charles used his telepathic prowess to disguise Erik as an old man, and Raven disguised herself as an elderly woman, and the three of them managed to sneak onto a direct flight back to New York within the hour. Charles, playing the loving grandson who was taking his grandfather back from a stressful trip. He’s stolen a sturdy wheelchair from someplace to complete the ruse. Charles contracted Moira before they left, so when they landed, there was a car waiting for them, to speed them back to the mansion.

The speed of the trip, however, had been a strain on Erik. Even though it seemed like his heart was stable, both Raven and Charles noticed that something was not quite right. When he stopped breathing on the steps of the mansion, they were worried, but they were not surprised. Hank managed to get his vitals stable, but couldn't tell what was wrong. A late night phone call to a family friend got young Doctor Connor to make a house call. Erik was shocked to hear they admitted him to the hospital for a week, with his vitals under control but no real change in his condition. Erik wasn't sure how they had managed to get him out of the hospital, but he suspected that between Charles and Moira, they had decided that he wouldn’t be safe there.

Doctor Connors’ tests showed that while he still had some positive brain functions, there was just something not-quite-clicking in Erik's mind. With nothing to do done, they could only wait, and hope that Erik came back to himself.

A month in a coma had left him weak. It was a full day before Erik left the bed on his own, and then only to visit the bathroom. Those small distances left him clammy and shaking. With help from Charles (and the rest of the students, when he could bear to have them around), he was now making short walks a couple of times a day.

The students were falling over themselves to help him with things. His prolonged period of unconsciousness had played a merry hell upon his ability to eat solid food, and as he learned was fairly common, his appetite was almost nonexistent. The students decided to compensate by being more and more inventive in the kitchen. While the mild fruit drinks were welcome, the less said about Hank's attempt at spaghetti and fish the better. Erik wasn't sure how Charles was handling the overflowing anarchy that was coming from his recovery.

The thought of Charles raised another sticking point. While both Charles and Raven were more than happy to talk about the physical trip back to the mansion, Erik was having a devil of a time talking to Charles about what happened with them in the cabin. At first, he was content that Charles was simply concerned about a relapse, and wanted to get some mental and temporal distance between them and that night. But it was starting to get ridiculous. It seemed like every time Erik started to get Charles alone to talk about it, one of the children walked by, or a call would come in, or some other distraction would arise and they would have to table their discussion until later.

If Erik didn't know any better, he would think the telepath was engineering these "coincidences".

Erik had attempted to test whether Charles was monitoring his thoughts, but he had never caught the telepath attempting to listen in for the dangerous topics. Whether Charles was sneaking around or not, however, Erik was not going to give up.

If Raven was correct (and Erik assumed she was) Charles had never talked about why the deaths of Woolsworth and Shaw drove him into his own mind, requiring rescue from outside help. With Charles' expanding powers, Erik knew it was more likely than not that something like this could happen again. Next time, Charles might not have someone to jump on the proverbial mental grenade. However, there was the unresolved issue of what Erik and Charles had done to each others’ minds. While Erik was only beginning to understand the position that he had put Charles in on the beach, without a firmer idea of what was going on in Charles' mind, he had no idea what Charles had done to him. While Erik felt sick when he thought about what he had done to Charles in Cuba, he also had knew that he was not going to be able to right his wrongs until he got Charles to confront what had gone on in their shared mental landscape. And that involved waiting for the right moment to force Charles to open up to him.

Erik's patience was touch and go at the best of times. Charles was likely to drive him over the edge.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"You made it a lot farther today," said Charles, pushing Erik gently across the walking path around the mansion. It took everything in Erik to not snarl in frustration.

"I don't understand why it's taking me so long to recover," said Erik, shivering slightly in the warm autumn sunset. The brief walk around the grounds had been cut embarrassingly short when a slight hill caused Erik's knees to give out. Stumbling into Charles, his vision darkened, and he nearly made the most undignified swoon in the history of man. Fortunately Charles, like always, was there for him, and helped him to what remained of a small stone wall in the middle of the yard. Erik had to sit with his head between his legs, trying desperately not to vomit, while Charles ran to get the wheelchair that he had thoughtfully left by the front door. Erik had hoped that he would have been spared the indignity of being carted around, but apparently his body had other ideas.

"These things take time, Erik. Doctor Connor is still impressed that you are doing as much as you are."

"At least the good doctor is impressed," muttered Erik, his face pinched in a scowl. "Thank goodness the children aren't here."

"It was rather nice of Moira to take them camping. And of Raven to travel to Canada in my stead, to check on those rumors of mutant activity," said Charles, stopping a moment to look wistfully around the lawn before continuing. "They are wonderful, of course, but having them under feet at all times is a bit…bothersome."

"At least they aren't doting on you as if you are made of glass.” Erik muttered. “Alex was trying to fluff my pillows the other day, when he thought I wouldn't notice."

"Oh, dear," said Charles unable to keep the smile off his face or out of his voice.

"You think it's sweet, I can tell," said Erik, disgust plain in his voice. "It's not. It's patronizing and horrible. I liked it better when they were scared of me."

"You'll scare them again soon enough," said Charles, laying a comforting hand on Erik's shoulder. The other man reached up and grabbed it, taking some comfort in the sentiment. Erik was well aware that there was no real recovery schedule, because no one was quite sure what was wrong. It was possible that he would make a full recovery, but it was equally possible that his coma had caused some permanent brain damage, which could manifest itself in many different ways. While both he and Charles seemed confident that he had not lost any mental acuity, his persistent physical weakness was a worry to them all. Doctor Connor kept advising them to be patient.

Erik was not good at patience.

"Can we stay out here a while longer?" asked Erik, pointing over to the patio where a garden table and chairs sat. The gathering clouds threatened a storm, but for the brief twilight, it would be a pleasant place to rest. "I don't think I can quite bear going back to that stuffy house quite yet."

"Stuffy house?" asked Charles, as he directed the chair to the table. "Only you could call a fifty bedroom mansion a 'stuffy house.' "

"You try being confined to it for weeks," said Erik, a reluctant smile pulling at his face. "I promise you, even Buckingham Palace would seem stuffy after that."

Charles' rich laugh was his only reply. He looked to the sky, and apparently judging them safe enough from the elements, continued for the garden table. It was an excellent place to sit, as the nearby trees kept most of the wind at bay, while still letting much of the sun through to warm a cooling evening. As he pushed the chair up to the table, Charles pulled from the little compartment beneath the seat of the chair a bottle of something, two small glasses, a corkscrew and a small chess set. Erik looked at the wine and grimaced.

"That's one of those damn fake wines, isn't it," said Eric, staring broodingly off into the west. Charles set the bottle on the table carefully and pulled up a chair.

"You know that Doctor Connor said you shouldn’t drink anything with alcohol," said Charles, having the decency to at last look apologetic. "And they told me at the market this juice was very refreshing. I thought it would be nice."

Erik closed his eyes for a moment and tried not to lose his temper. Of course Charles would think it was nice. He could still have his glass of scotch after pushing the invalid around the grounds. Eric, on the other hand, knew the only flavor he would taste was the bitterness of the situation.

Erik's strained tolerance of the obviously inadequate substitutions for normality took another blow when Charles opened up the chess set to reveal the pieces hidden underneath the lid. The small pieces, one set highly shined and one scuffed dark, were made of heavy iron. Even as he closed his eyes to hide his frustration from Charles, Erik could feel them in his mind, taunting him. As he heard Charles pile them next to the board and replace the lid, he carefully opened his eyes, only barely managing not to toss the whole mess across the patio.

One positively academic discovery that had come out of this debacle was the concrete realization that the source of mutant power was not some mystical ether that all people drew from. It seemed to come from the physical form. While it was still unclear if each mutation was powered by the same organ, it was patently obvious to Eric that his injury and illness had severely weakened his abilities. Like a cracked jar, his broken body simply could not hold as much power as it used to.

Charles liked to believe it was more like a muscle, overextended and then atrophied. And like any teacher, he had an almost unstoppable desire to push that muscle to its limits. At all times. Which caused him to sneak these little tests and exercises into every spare moment they had. It was from the frequency and predictability of these tests that Erik actually began to suspect that Charles might be avoid reading any of his stray thoughts at all. If he had a glimmer of the overwhelming anger and frustration rolling of off Erik's mind, he would be cowering in the mansion.

This was not as paranoid as it sometimes sounded inside Erik's head. He was fairly sure the younger students didn't have any idea that Charles was taking a careful and attentive sample of their mood and frustration levels while they were working together. It was one of the delicate touches that made Charles such an effective teacher. Erik knew that in the absence of his powers, Charles was absolute rubbish with facial expressions and body language.

Erik assumed that most people couldn't feel, and truly never even suspected, that Charles was skimming them. However, like a poker player, Charles broadcasted his use of power with certain "tells". In less frustrating times, Eric had gotten great amusement by the conversational pitfalls that Charles would skirt before he fell back on his bolstered empathy. Unfortunately, now it was painful to watch. Mostly because he could see Charles falling right over the edge with him, time and time again. If Eric were feeling more generous than the situation allowed, he would admit that without using telepathy, Charles had near to no way to tell what Erik was thinking. He was not like the younger students, emotion and thought clear in their every move.

But Erik was done being generous with the faults of his telepathic friend. Even the most insensitive man should understand that rubbing Erik's face in his losses was nothing less than torture.

Charles looked expectantly at him, gentle, supportive encouragement clear on his face. Roughly separating the light and dark pieces, Charles picked up a highly shined rook, and held it in ready above the eight by eight grid.

"I'll start on this side, and you can start over there," said Charles, pointing to the obvious sides of the chessboard. "I know you'll be able to get to the pawns before me this time."

"What's the use, Charles," said Erik, looking away from the table. "I used to be able to pull submarines out of the ocean. Now, I can't place eight chess pieces on a board without shaking like a newborn. Can't we just skip this farce for one night?"

"We didn't try anything else today, or yesterday," said Charles, in an unreasonably reasonable tone. "Just try, Erik."

It was the pleading tone that got him. Even in his frustration, Erik couldn’t about to deny Charles. His anger, his pain had put the younger man through too much to not at least try what he was suggesting. Even though it was not going to work. What harm could it do?

Erik looked at the pile of chess pieces and held out his hand. He pulled at the source of his powers, deep within him, and was answered with what was now an all-to-familiar ache. As he began to move the pieces one by one into place without touching them, that dull ache transformed into a lancing pain, tracing a fiery line from his outstretched hands to his brain, focusing into a pinprick of agony right between his eyes. As he hesitantly moved the second bishop and knight into place, he felt his vision begin to dim at the edges, the pain drawing darkness in from all sides. Erik's world was focused on the last rook, a final tower between him and the yawning void of oblivion. His vision was dark enough that he couldn’t even see Charles leap out of his chair and grab at him.

"Erik!" cried Charles, his hands gripping Erik's shoulders like a vice, shaking him gently but firmly. "Stop! You're bleeding!"

Erik snapped back to himself, the pain lingering in every muscle. As his vision returned, he saw Charles, panic plain on his face. He looked down to see the chess board, seven dark pieces upright, splattered with blood. The second rook lay on its side, half an inch from its destination square. Erik's hand flew to his face, to find a warm wetness flowing from his nose, and more disturbingly, his eyes. When his hand pulled away, Erik saw that it was covered in blood.

"Shit," spat Charles, as Erik sat, staring uncomprehendingly at his shaking hands. Charles reached into his pocket and grabbed a handkerchief, and began to frantically dab at Erik's face. As the cloth touched his eye, Erik jolted, brought back to himself. He swatted Charles' hand away with irritation.

"It's fine, Charles," said Erik. Try as he might, be could not keep the slight tone of "I told you so" out of his weary voice.

"Are you serious?" asked Charles, wiping the blood from the table. "That was horrific!"

"I can't say it was pleasant, but I think I'm fine."

"What happened?" asked Charles, gaze darting all over Erik's face, but refusing to meet his eyes. This whole dance was making Erik tired.

"Nothing different than usual. I tried to access my powers, and pain lanced through my body," said Erik, pointing from his arm to his face in a sweeping gesture. "I guess I just pushed too hard?"

"Wait," said Charles, his expression one of growing horror. "You mean it feels like that every time?"

"Of course," said Erik, his voice steady, his body growing cold from the realization of what Charles was telling him. "I _told_ you it did. Every time."

"I guess I had just assumed…"

"What? You assumed what?" said Erik, pushing Charles away from him. "That I was like your little students, who would rather complain and temporize than fix their problems? "

"Well…"

"And you didn't bother to check?" said Erik, gesturing sharply towards his temple. Charles looked shocked and wild-eyed, backed into a corner in the middle of the patio.

"No!"

"Don't 'No!' me, Charles. We both know you eavesdrop to help your students past their blocks."

"I guess…"

"And why did you think you could help me, when you've _hobbled_ yourself by not using your best teaching tool?"

"Erik…" said Charles, obviously attempting to soothe the angry man. Erik was having none of that.

"Can you honestly tell me that you've successfully helped a single mutant master their powers _without_ using your own?"

Charles’ uncomfortable silence was answer enough.

"I cannot _believe_ you, Charles," said Erik, fury building in his voice. The sky overhead echoed the growing tension, thunder rumbling in the distance. "I assumed that when you ignored me before, you had some other plan. But I guess I was mistaken. I haven't _applied_ myself to my’"problem"’. You never cared enough to check."

"That's unfair, Erik."

"You don't know what unfair is, Charles," hissed Erik, pushing himself away from the table, and standing. Only a slight wobble in his legs betrayed the difficulty of the moment. "Unfair is risking your mind to save someone, and having them not even treat you like a person afterwards. Unfair is being pushed out of your friend's life, and being treated like some kind of pet or a broken toy. Unfair is not even being able to _talk_ to the one person who may have some idea what is _wrong_ with your mind, because he has decided to avoid any mention of it."

"I'm just uncomfortable…"

"Uncomfortable? _Uncomfortable?_ "

Erik's whole body began to shake as anger coursed through him. His jaw clamped down on the hundreds of hateful, hurtful things that began bubbling out of his gut, the frustration of the whole situation focusing in on the stammering telepath before him. Erik knew if he stayed there, he would say or do something that both he and Charles would likely regret. So instead, without letting any of those horrible thoughts form in his head, he reached down, and with one sweeping movement, flipped the table.

The ease at which the table flew surprised Erik, even in the middle of the surge of energy that his rage had given him. None of the usual lingering pains that usually accompanied his power-usage were there, and he almost felt like himself again. It was a moment that slowed to preternatural slowness in Erik's eyes. The chess pieces arched, joined by both the board and bottle, flying high into the air. Just before Erik turned to stalk off, he saw Charles tumble backwards, his arms windmilling like a cartoon character, on his way to following the detritus to the ground. Charles landed in the awkwardly in his chair, with wild eyes and a painful thud. With a more pain than the table had caused, Erik pulled the metal chair upright. With a twist, he loosely clamped Charles' wrists down, trapping the other man to the now stable chair. Apparently even though his anger had given him a surge of strength, it hadn't cured him altogether. He was sure Charles would get himself out with little struggle, but it would give Erik a few minutes head start.

Erik turned and stalked into the woods, just as it started to rain. Unlike some spring rains, starting with the smallest drops that eventually lead to more, this rainstorm unzipped and began pouring like a waterfall. While the branches on the trees blocked some of the torrential downpour, Erik was still soaked before he got ten feet under the canopy. There had been a lot of bizarre weather around the complex the past couple of days, but this was ridiculous. If Erik didn't know better, he would have suspected a new mutant on the grounds, testing out some insane desire to see if he or she could recreate the biblical flood. The ground beneath Erik's feet squished. It had been water-logged even before this storm had even started.

Erik knew it was irrational, but he blamed this on Charles as well. If the man had any sense of tact, Erik wouldn't be storming through the woods, feeling sillier with his childish temper tantrum with every step. And perversely, these thoughts just made Erik more irritated.

The rain was so heavy that even inside the thicket, Erik could barely see more than two feet in front of him. Not that Erik was paying attention to the weather. He was too focused on getting away.

Which probably explained why he didn't notice the swollen riverbank until he was tumbling down it.

Erik almost caught himself on the first slide, his arms flailing around, almost grasping any number of a half a dozen rootlets that poked out of the riverbank. He grabbed onto a particular thick one, and hung, mud and water coursing over him, more disorienting than any dizzy spell. His limbs betrayed him before he could get a full breath, and soon he was crashing into the river, unable to right himself in the tumbling water. He managed to break the surface a moment before he needed to breath, and tried to shout for help, but the rushing water pushed him under before he could close his mouth.

Choking, sputtering and tumbling, Erik tried to yell, struggle, anything but go quietly into the dark water. As the cold, surging darkness rushed in, he thought he felt the glimmer of panic not his own at the edge of his mind. But even that was swept away as he sank into the twisting darkness of the water.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Erik had woken to some interesting situations in the past, but never had he been privy to quite this level of multi-lingual cursing. He was being dragged like a sack of potatoes, towards placed unknown, through the muddiest patch of wooded area while the rain still fell. A great, mud covered form was hauling him, cursing and sputtering, through the grass, pulling him forward in fits and starts. Erik, still disoriented from the whole ordeal, did what any rational person might do in his situation.

He yelled and flailed, successfully freeing himself from the slippery grip of the filthy monster. Unfortunately, due to the angle and the lethargy in his limbs, he was freed to find himself falling directly into a muddy puddle.

"For God's sake, Erik. I did not fish you out of a flooded river just to have you drown in the mud. I know you're mad at me, and I deserve it, but please. Just work with me here."

Erik pushed himself up to see that the mud monster was in fact a beleaguered and filthy Charles, leaning down over him. Looking around, Erik identified the anonymous wooded area as one quite near the driveway. Charles wiped his face, trying to get the worst of the mud off it, and sighed.

"Good. It's only about 10 more yards to the driveway, where I've managed to get your chair. From there, I think we'll be able to get inside without much of a problem."

"Why don't we just go straight for the house?" asked Erik, trying with great care to get up to his feet. As he put weight on his left ankle, he suddenly knew the answer to his question. With a cry, he sat back down in the mud, blinking back tears of pain.

"I think that's just a bad sprain, but I couldn't tell with all the mud," said Charles, circling over to Erik's left. "I was planning on getting you back home and rinsing you off before I attempted to find out for sure. Here. Use me as a crutch, and we'll get back in no time."

While it was not quick, Erik and Charles managed to stumble their way through the woods with a minimum of falling. No conversation passed between them, other than the random profanities that follow dirty, painful physical exertion. By the time they got to the driveway, they were both relieved to see the chair.

By the time they got to the door of the mansion, both Erik and Charles were panting with exhaustion. The rain had finally stopped as they approached their destination, but even coming down it had done little to shift the clay-heavy mud from their hair or clothes. Charles looked down at his clothes, and then to Erik, and shrugged.

"We're not going to get any cleaner out here," he said, helping Erik up. "Let's just avoid the expensive carpets."

Erik nodded and stood, leaning heavily on Charles as they entered the house. While they did not track as much mud as Erik feared, their passage still left some smudges on the walls and stairs. Before long, Erik had to really focus on putting one foot in front of the other, to not tumble and make a worse mess than they already had, which made their trip through the house a bit of a blur. At one point, while attempting to walk up the main stairway, Erik stumbled and ended up putting his full weight on his bad ankle. While, at his best, this would probably not have fazed him, in his current state it was too much. His vision faded and his consciousness nearly followed, but somehow, he kept walking.

The next thing Erik knew, he was sitting in a bathtub, covered in warm soapy water. Charles sat next to the tub in a well-worn wooden chair, clothed in a large brown robe, a pile of books on the table next to him. Erik could see from the V of the robe's neckline that Charles had removed his wet, muddy shirt. Slowly feeling down his sides, Erik realized that he was sitting in the soapy water in his underwear.

"Ah, good," said Charles, slipping a bookmark into his reading material. "I think you are really back this time. I never thought I would start getting used to someone else falling unconscious…"

"Where are we?" interrupted Erik, sitting up in the water and looking around in confusion.

"We're in the master bath just off my bedroom," said Charles, standing up to open the door so that Erik could get a better view. "My room has one of the largest bathrooms in use. It also has the advantage of having both a bathtub and a shower stall. I can run to your room and grab you some clothes if you’d like."

Erik had only been in Charles' room once before their trip to Cuba. He remembered that the room looked spartan, almost unlived in, every drawer neat and every surface clean. But from the view he had from the bathroom door, this was no longer the case. While the drawers were still neat, piles of clothes and other things lingered on the furniture. The sheets, while clean, were rumpled and lived in. But the largest change was the large desk in the corner. Charles had moved a true professor's desk into the room, which was covered in papers, books and other scholarly items. Even from this distance, Erik noticed that quite a few of the books were not on Genetics, as he might have suspected, but on brain trauma and coma recovery. Erik looked to the pile of books on the table next to him, and saw they were of a similar make. There was one heavily marked with different colored paper tabs on the edges, titled "Astral Projection: What Happens When the Mind Dies". Charles noticed Erik's attention shift towards the books, and cleared his throat.

"I see you found my research," said Charles, sitting down on the chair and self consciously straightening the books. "I promise, I'll try to explain myself after we get some of this mess sorted out. Just please, let me make sure you’re okay first."

"I'll hold you to that," said Erik, looking around the bathroom proper. It was enormous, the large tub he was sitting in next to a window seat-like ledge, with a glass-enclosed shower to the right, and a sink and toilet to the left. By the door, there were two sizable beige towels, and a wicker contraption that Erik assumed to be a hamper. On the ground next to the hamper, were both his and Charles' clothes, torn, muddy, and covered in sticks. A nicely folded pile of clean clothes next to them, in stark contrast to the mess. Charles carefully perched on the ledge by the tub, and peered into Erik's face. Erik straightened up, realizing as Charles put a steady hand on his head that his hair was still caked with mud.

"Right then," Charles said, looking closely at Erik's face, first one eye and then the other. "I think you'll be safe until I return with something to help get that rat's nest out of your hair."

Charles turned to leave, but was stopped by Erik's vice-like grip on his arm. Looking down at Erik's hand, Charles' brow furrowed in confusion.

"Just wait a moment," said Erik, his voice weak in volumn but terrifying intense in purpose. "You and I have both gotten a little dirty before now. I think we have some unfinished business first."

"But the mess…"

"The mess will keep. I'm not sure we will. Sit."

Charles looked at his arm, then at Erik, then glanced at the door and sighed. Carefully extracting his arm from Erik's grip, he walked over to the door and closed it.

"Fine," said Charles, sticking a finger in to the tub to probe it. "But you are not going to take a chill just because we've put off some important discussions until a storm tossed you down a mudbank. Let me add some more hot water."

With a shrug, Erik moved up the tub so that Charles could get better access to the spigots. Charles followed and leaned forward, his robe gaping so that Erik was now sure that Charles was also in his underwear. After a moment of fiddling with the knobs, hot water was added to the cooling tub. After he turned off the water, Charles plopped down in the chair next to Erik, grimacing as he shifted in his robe. Stealing a glance at the other man, Charles obviously saw something in Erik's face that stopped his fidgeting. Charles neatly tucked his hands in his lap, and attempted to look as contrite as possible with his hair and face still streaked with mud and leaves. Erik took some pity on him. Some.

"I suppose I should start," said Erik, leaning against the side of the tub and looking past the other man.

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to know that I didn’t realize you would be pulled into my revenge," said Erik, as Charles' face grew still and closed. Erik started talking faster, trying to get this out before Charles changed the subject, or distracted him with logic. "I should have realized. But I was so focused on Shaw that I didn't put it together…"

"Erik, it's ok."

"No, it's not," said Erik, looking angrily into Charles' face, making the other man meet his eyes by force of will alone. "Something like that can't just be 'ok'. I made you complicit. I almost killed you."

Charles sighed, and looked deep into Erik's eyes. Erik was surprised at what he saw. Embarrassment. Frustration. Pity. It was almost too much to take.

"I have apparently made more of a mess of this whole situation than I thought," said Charles, looking away from Erik and running a hand through his slowly hardening hair. "My friend, you didn't do anything to me that I didn't choose to take on myself. And frankly, it's impressive that we managed to get out of there alive."

"But…"

"No," said Charles, holding up a hand. "Let me explain. I thought I was going to be able to handle Shaw once I got my mind around him. But when I got in there, I found something unexpected."

"What are you talking about?"

"Shaw's mutation, along with his surprisingly ancient age, apparently gave him a certain amount of telepathic resistance," said Charles, gesturing in front of him in a vague circle. "When I touched his mind, I found I had extremely limited options. I could freeze him, or free him. And in my arrogance, I didn't have a backup plan."

"I'm not sure I follow you."

Charles sighed in frustration, but for the first time, Erik felt it was more self-directed than anything. Charles turned to look at him, and Erik found himself pinned with an intense gaze.

"I am a very powerful telepath," said Charles, obviously struggling with his explanation. "But occasionally, when I find myself pushed up against a wall, I don't make good split second calls. While I was able to immobilize Shaw, I found that I couldn't do anything but freeze him. And if I had let him move, he would have leveled the entire island."

"But if I hadn't killed him..."

"By the time I figured out how to break through his defenses, if I ever had, it was very likely that we would have been leveled by the incoming missiles. Which Shaw would have been able to absorb, and add to his destructive powers. The resulting explosion would have worked straight into Shaw's plans."

Erik was silent as he absorbed this revelation. Charles was right. Shaw likely _would_ have simply absorbed the force of the missiles. But something still wasn't right about the explanation.

"But you felt his death," said Erik, slowly piecing together the timeline from memory. "And I'm the one that killed him. While your minds were connected."

"And I can't say that it felt great, but I honestly can't see any other way we could have gotten out of there in one piece. I never want to go through that again, but if I have to choose between losing one murderous psychopath versus then entire world, I'll take the sin on my soul. Maybe if I had had more time to figure out how to bring Shaw in alive..."

"I wouldn't have let you," said Erik, coldly. "I may regret the harm I caused you, but he deserved to die."

Erik expected Charles to argue with him, but the other man was silent. As Erik looked over at him, he found himself chilled by the distant look in Charles' eyes. Erik figured it was time to get the real answers he was seeking.

"What happened to you at the beach?" asked Erik, softly. Charles spoke so quietly Erik had to lean forward to hear.

"I'm not sure if it was because of his mutation, or his age, or just the manner of his death, but something of Shaw stuck around after his body died."

"Like Woolsworth?"

Charles smiled, though the expression wasn’t a pleasant one.

"Not quite. Raven told me she shared that mess with you. The gardener was a simple, evil, petty man. But…I guess there were some similarities between the two situations, in a purely academic sense…"

"Charles, you’re starting to babble."

"Sorry," said Charles, still not looking over at Erik, even though the other man seemed to be boring a hole in the side of his head. "Both of them lingered in my mind, hiding in echoes, coloring my thoughts."

"Like a ghost?"

"No, not at all…" said Charles, in a dismissive tone. But after a moment, his brow knotted, and he reconsidered. "Actually, sort of. Not Woolsworth exactly, but Shaw definitely had the characteristics of a ghost. Especially the haunting aspect. He stuck around."

"Breakit down for me," said Erik, gently touching Charles' knee. "How can your brain be haunted?"

"When Woolsworth died, his personality bounced around in my head," explained Charles, returning to his vague gestures in the air. "I had to sink into myself to…open up the windows, as it were. Let the echoes quiet themselves. And even then, his tone lingered some."

"How is that different from Shaw?"

"With Shaw, it wasn't so much like an echo. More like a home intruder, rummaging around. When I descended into myself, instead of simply opening the windows, I found that I had to exterminate instead."

"But you got everything out?" Charles sadly shook his head.

"I didn't get anything out," he said, his eyes growing distant again. "I couldn't. From the inside of my own mindscape, I was trapped. At least, until you showed up."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," said Charles, looking over to Erik, vulnerability written over every line in his face. "I was caught in a loop, losing more of myself each pass. Somehow, your arrival gave me the internal clue I needed to discover what was happening."

"But…how?"

"I couldn’t tell you. And trust me, I've been reading everything I can get my hands on to try and figure it out. I can only assume that some part of Shaw, powered by his unusual mutation, was able to attach to my consciousness. It was waiting for me to tire, and then I'm sure it would have made some kind of move."

"I…think you’re right," said Erik, remembering Shaw's evil whispers inside his mind. "But that still doesn't explain how I got rid of him."

"When you…stabbed yourself, my mind tried again to force him out," said Charles, searching Erik's face for something. "And it succeeded. Violently. Don't you remember?"

"No," said Erik, shaking his head slowly. "The last thing I remember is everything going dark. Then I woke up here."

"Oh…" said Charles, pursing his lips in a flat line. He looked away again, his eyes growing distant. "I guess I just assumed you knew…"

"Charles, you have to stop assuming that other people know what you are thinking, just because you know what _they_ are thinking."

"Good point," said Charles, the ghost of a smile playing at his face. "After you…did the deed, as it were, you fell to the ground."

"In your mind?"

"In my mind, yes. Your image kept flashing between you and Shaw, both bleeding in a pile on the floor. Suddenly, your eyes opened, but they weren't your eyes. They were Shaw's."

Erik remained silent as fear shot through him. Glancing over at the bathroom mirror, he wondered what his eyes looked like now.

"You opened your mouth," Charles continued, oblivious to Erik's discomfort. "And Shaw's horrible laugh came out. And that's when the walls started to crumble."

"The walls?"

"Yes. It was like the entire room began to attack you. I think my mind had identified the foreign presence and decided to use whatever means were necessary to fight it, because as the room broke down, everything started to fly at you, beating you into the ground."

"Was it me? Or was it Shaw?"

"In a strange way, it was both. I tried to stop what was going on, but I was exhausted from being trapped in my own mind for days, and I couldn't get control of myself. It seemed like everything I did only made the attack more violent, more forceful. Finally, the door flew off its frame and punched you into nothingness. That's when I woke up."

"And this is when my heart had stopped?"

"Yes. Raven and I got your heart beating, and we rushed home. I was so exhausted that I couldn't even read my own mind, let alone anyone else's. It wasn't until we got you to the hospital that I realized something was wrong."

"What do you mean, something was wrong?"

Charles pointed to the center of his forehead, still looking off in the distance.

"No one was home," he said. Shaking his head slightly, Charles added, "I don't know exactly what happened, but there was no one in you head."

"Does that usually happen with coma patients?"

"Not in my experience. Usually, the person is unresponsive, even in their mind, but they are still _there_."

Erik waited a moment, hoping that Charles would continue. After minutes in growing silence, it became clear that Erik was going to have to force the explanation from Charles, one leading question at a time.

"What do you think happened?" asked Erik, his voice urging Charles to explain.

"I think my abilities, when they felt threatened, reacted in a way that I have never experienced before. I think they forced both you and Shaw out, as forcefully as possible."

"What does that mean?"

"I think I punched a hole in your brain."

Erik laughed. He couldn't help himself. It burst out of his mouth before he could stop it. Charles looked over at him, his expression still and serious.

"I don't see what is funny about that."

"Charles, that’s ridiculous," said Erik, his face the picture of disbelief. "Why would you assume _you_ were the cause?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Charles, inside your mind, in a place that was more real than any dream, I had just stabbed myself through the heart. Why, exactly, did you think _you_ were the one who did the damage?"

"Because of what happened afterward! Your stopped heart shouldn't have had that kind of effect on your brain!"

"I can tell you this for certain. Anything that happened in our heads, I did to myself," said Erik. Charles opened his mouth to argue, but was stopped by Erik's hand, raising in front of him. "Listen. You cannot be responsible for both what happened to Shaw and what happened to me. Either we are both equally guilty, or we are both equally innocent. And in either case, it's probably time we were both forgiven."

Charles opened his mouth again, and closed it without saying anything. Somehow, with all of his intelligence, Charles had apparently not considered this possibilty.

"In any case," said Erik, his voice oozing with reasonability. "If you were so worried about the damage you may have done, you could have looked for yourself."

Charles' face went from thoughtful to guilty in the space of a blink. While Erik still felt some sympathy, he did not intend to let Charles off the hook now.

"You know I won't peek into minds without permission…"

"That is a dodge at best, and a lie at worst, Charles." said Erik, leaning towards Charles. "Granted, you don't just go digging around in people’s thoughts, but you only trot out 'permission' when you think someone is going to stop trusting you for invading their private thoughts."

"I don't think that's very fair."

"You're obsession with _fairness_ in this whole situation is something between endearing and pitiable. It is what it is, Charles. I have no issues with the ethics of your abilities."

"I guess I should be thankful for that," muttered Charles, rolling his eyes.

"Perhaps," said Erik, leaning back slightly. "But you’re still dodging the issue. Let me ask this simply. Why have you been avoiding using your telepathy on me?"

Charles’ expression grew pained, and he let out a large sigh. Looking over at Erik's impassive face, he obviously realized that the time for temporizing was over. His shoulders slumped forward, defeated.

"There were two reasons, really," said Charles, tracing the edge of the fuzzy rob on his leg. "The first sounds more noble, but I fear the second may be the true reason."

"I'm all ears."

"After I realized my abilities may have harmed you, I was worried that if I opened my mind up to you, my subconscious would flare up again, and attempt to attack."

"Has that ever happened before?"

"A re-attack?" asked Charles. "My mind hadn't ever attacked anyone without my conscious will when it happened last time!"

"But you said before, that you thought part of the reason your abilities…overreacted, let us say, is because you were exhausted and panicked."

"True…"

"We were also deep within your mind."

"Also true…"

"So what is your other reason?"

"I was scared that Shaw might not be gone," said Charles in a tiny voice, shame in his eyes. He looked anywhere in the room but towards the tub. "I feared that if I touched you again, mind to mind, that Shaw could resurface in one of us, and I wasn't sure what I could do."

"Charles…"

"It's why I've been doing so much research into the idea. I knew that eventually, I was going to have to face this. I had hoped that I would feel ready."

"Do you think you can do it?"

"Do what? Make sure Shaw stays gone? Probably. Except…"

"Except what?" said Erik, a bit of familiar steel in his voice at last. "If Shaw is still alive, somehow, then you need to do this. That man has taken too much from me, from all mutants, to be allowed to hide in my mind. I need you to go in and make sure he's gone."

"Erik, I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because I might kill you this time, you idiot!" said Charles, his calm demeanor finally cracking.. "Even if you _are_ right, and my subconscious doesn't try and swat you like a fly, I've never dug around in someone's head looking for a stranger before. It could kill you, paralyze you, or lobotomize you. And I'm not willing to take that chance until it becomes necessary."

"Charles, your concern is touching," said Erik, his voice unsoftened by Charles' outburst. "But I would rather be dead then have that man using my mind to live. If you don't do something about it, I will."

"This is _exactly_ why I didn't tell you!" said Charles, putting his face in his hands. "There is literally _nothing_ you can do about this without me. Or without a telepath of similar powers. And I swear, if you track down that diamond dilettante…"

"Why shouldn't I?" countered Erik. "What choice do you leave me? Maybe if you stopped treating me like an invalid…"

"What? You'd _kill yourself_? Trying to do something that if you just give me some time, I can take care of?"

"Oh, now you sound confident," said Erik, scorn heavy in his voice. "Not five minutes ago you weren't even sure such a thing could be done. Let's say you are right, and you can do something about this. What am I supposed to do until then?"

"I don't know, _recover_?" replied Charles, matching scorn for scorn. "Do you know how hard a coma is on the body? On the mind?"

"I've 'recovered' from worse than this."

"I don't think you have!" said Charles, his voice rising with irritation. "It's a bloody miracle that you woke up at all. Even with all the lingering difficulties, you’re still blowing everyone’s predictions out of the water."

"And that's supposed to be enough?" said Erik, his voice rising to join the shouting match. "I'm not one of your students, Charles. I'm not going to sit here, while you push me in the right direction. This isn't an opportunity to expand my intellect. If you don't keep me informed, I'm not going to stick around and hope that you dribble wisdom upon me."

"is that what you think this is all about? A teaching opportunity?"

"I can't imagine why else you would be so circumspect about the whole thing!"

"Oh for god's sake…" said Charles, his head falling into his hands. "I honestly cannot believe this conversation is happening."

"What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"

Charles looked out from between his fingers, his face screwed up in a mix between frustration and desperate humor. Erik met his look with a glare, until he realized Charles had lost his internal struggle and begun to laugh. The laugh started out as a low rumble, but quickly escalated until Charles’ entire body was shaking with an edge of hysteria.

"I don't see what’s so funny," said Erik.

"Really?" said Charles, between gasps. "Because nothing about this _isn't_ funny. You're sitting in a bathtub, I'm in my underwear, we've both been assuming the other knew anything we were thinking, and I am far too sober for this conversation. In fact, I refuse to talk about this anymore until we have some kind of fortification. Let's get you out of the water."

"Do you mean that?" asked Erik, glaring up at the other man as he stood. "Or are you just saying this in the hopes I’ll let it drop? Because I warn you, that is not going to happen."

"No, Erik," said Charles, flipping the drain and starting up some warm water. "I am well aware that is not going to happen. And I agree. We need to clear the air. Just as soon as I’ve had a drink."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Charles worked just as fast as Erik could have liked. With a careful hand, Charles helped Erik ease under the draining water and rinse the worst of the mud out of his hair. With the mud gone, it took Charles a few careful moments to untangle the worst of the debris that remained, his fingers steady and comforting on Erik's scalp. With a final rinse, the only lingering evidence of the tumble into the river was Erik's swollen ankle. As the bathtub drained, Charles disappeared for a moment to return with another fluffy robe, a towel, and a set of dry briefs. Giving Erik a moment of privacy, Charles stepped back into the bedroom while Erik carefully stripped out of his soaked drawers, dried himself and delicately worked himself into the dry pair. Erik couldn't tell how long it took him to do this simple action, but it took every bit of concentration to keep on his feet. When Charles looked back in, Erik was pale, but still standing.

Forgoing the library as farther than Erik's tender ankle was going to take, Charles helped Erik to the edge of his bed. In the time it took Erik to dress himself, Charles had dragged an armchair from the corner to place it by the bed. From the trail of discarded books and sweaters, Erik surmised that this chair had been used as more of a mobile flat storage surface and less of a piece of furniture. Sitting Erik down in the armchair, Charles sat down on the bed, and gestured to the side table. On the bedside table was a glass decanter of what Erik assumed was some fair to middling scotch, a small ice bucket, a bowl of salty nuts, and two crystal glasses.

"I see there are two glasses," said Erik, his tone dry.

"You are right," said Charles, reaching over to pour a handful of ice in one of the glasses, along with some of the meltwater.

"What happened to doctor's orders?"

"Technically, I am a doctor," said Charles, pouring a generous splash of scotch into the iced glass and handing it to Erik. "And I weigh the benefits are worth the risks. Also, I think you might actually stab me if I pour myself one without offering something to you."

"You would be right, my friend," said Erik, accepting the glass graciously. As Charles poured himself a stronger version without the ice, Erik placed the glass to his lips and enjoyed a bare sip of the smoky liquid. The pleasant burn of the alcohol echoed in his core as a warm glow. Despite his churning emotions, Erik felt his lips curl up in a smile.

"If I knew all it was going to take was scotch to cheer you up," said Charles, looking over with quiet amusement. "I would have disregarded Dr. Connor days ago."

"I am not that easily distracted," said Erik, cradling the glass in his hands. "I believe you were about to explain why, exactly, you did not trust me enough to warn me that Shaw may still be hiding in my head."

Without a word, Charles gulped down his entire glass. Shaking his head vigorously against the feeling of the scotch hitting his stomach, he poured himself another glass before speaking.

“I would not say it was a lack of trust, exactly."

"Then what exactly would you say it is?"

"If I lack trust in anyone, it would be me," said Charles, looking deep in his glass, as if it held the words he was trying to say. "I knew that if I shared my fears with you, you'd want to act as soon as possible. But without knowing what we were in for, there was a good possibility you would die, and I couldn't let that happen."

"Charles, these are the kinds of decisions that you can't make for me," said Erik, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"To be honest, I wasn't making it for you," said Charles, draining the glass a second time. "I was making it for me."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I can't believe I’m actually saying this out loud…" mumbled Charles, squinting his eyes as he looked up into the bright electric lights.

"What did you say?"

Charles set his glass down with a dull thump that sounded of finality. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and Erik, as impatient as he was, gave him that time to come to some sort of peace with his inner dialogue. After that long moment, Charles opened his piercing blue eyes and looked Erik full in the face.

"I couldn't let you push me, because you would wear me down, and if you did, you would die. I would not be able to live with myself if I allowed that to happen."

"Charles…"

"No, Erik." said Charles, holding a hand up. "I've started this whole mess, so you’re going to let me finish. I almost killed you once with my mind. I'm not sure my sanity would have survived such a blow."

"I'm sure it wouldn’t have been easy, Charles, but you’re a stronger man than that."

"I don't think I am, Erik," said Charles, letting his hand rest on the armrest of Erik's chair. "I would have been utterly ruined without you. I've come to care for you, quite deeply."

"I value our friendship too, Charles…" said Erik, before he was interrupted by the pained look on Charles' face. In that look, Erik suddenly grasped the magnitude of what Charles had just said.

"Oh," said Erik, at a loss for words. So many scenes played out in his head. Charles sitting by his bed as Erik drifted off to sleep. Charles pained at every harsh word Erik flung at him during the healing process. Every touch, every word, every action in the last few months was now being dyed by the revelation that Charles _cared_ for him.

Charles' expression slipped from pained to rueful, and he poured himself another glass of scotch.

"Charles," started Erik, struggling to form words. "I haven't looked at anyone that way in a very long time."

"I know," said Charles, his voice soft and filled with regret. "And this is beyond the worst time to attempt anything of the sort. But between that, and what messing with Shaw does to my head, it seemed like a bad idea…"

"Wait a minute," said Erik, focusing in on a few words of Charles' explanation. "What Shaw does to your head? What are you talking about."

"Bloody hell," said Charles, wincing and looking away. "I had hoped you missed that."

"Well, I didn't. Explain."

"This will actually be easier if I explain something about Woolsworth," said Charles, his eyes scouring the room, as if some book in the vast pile would give him the answers Erik wanted. He looked askance at Erik. "If that is not too much of a digression?"

"I suppose only you know that, Charles. But go on."

"Anyway," said Charles, lifting his glass towards the light. "Woolsworth was an unwell man with a taste for scared young girls. While I am sure that he is long gone, there was a moment that I don't think even Raven guessed at that evening."

"Which was?"

"While Raven and I were struggling back to the house, I touched her mind. This was before I fully dealt with the remaining thoughts of Woolsworth, and in reality, was the impetus I needed to realize what I needed to do."

"Charles, you’re wandering."

"It's because this is very unpleasant," said Charles, a tiny bit of a slur hinting in his voice. "When I touched Raven's mind, I felt Woolsworth's desires fill my own body. I am ashamed to say that I reacted to that desire the way that any teenager would."

"But you said Raven didn't guess." said Erik, making the question more of a statement.

"Yes. When I realized what I was feeling, I pushed her away. That, I believe, is when I passed out. By the time I came back to myself, Woolsworth was gone. However, the situation left a lasting impression."

"How so?"

Charles looked over at Erik, his eyes vaguely unfocused. Erik wondered if he should try and get the glass away from Charles.

"Soon after that, I swore to Raven that I would never read her mind without her permission. While I’m sure she thought it was because of the mess that was quickly becoming our home lives, and a sign of trust between us, it was more than either of those things. It was because I couldn't bear to see my sister that way."

"Well as long as it wasn't just…" Erik trailed off as he processed what Charles had said. "Wait. How is this like Shaw again?"

"I know your memories of your time with Shaw are a painful blur," said Charles, plowing ahead and speaking more quickly with every sentence. "But you had to know that that monster had some kind of fascination with you and your power."

"A _sexual_ fascination?"

"I don't think it’s as simple as that. I think Shaw was motivated by power more than any other thought or emotion. Anything or anyone that would give him power, or that he could have power over, aroused his passions."

"Do you think this is why you… _care_ for me?" asked Erik, trying hard to keep his voice neutral.

"No," said Charles, setting his glass down hard enough to splash a small amount of Scotch onto Erik's arm. "My feelings toward you developed before we confronted Shaw. However, given those feelings, and the past experience I had with Raven, I did not want to chance cross contamination."

"You said when you touched Raven's mind, you were able to control your physical urges," said Erik, his tone remaining reasonable even though his mind was racing. "Why do you think that you would fail to do so now?"

"Because no matter how attractive others may find her, I have never thought of Raven as other than my sister. And as I have already confessed tonight, that is not the case with you."

"Right," said Erik, sinking his head into one hand, trying to straighten out his thinking. While that watered glass of scotch was all right, he envied Charles' current ability to pound back the glasses until unpleasant thoughts were easier to face. But knowing Erik's luck recently, if he tried that, he'd end an evening of fainting, drowning, bleeding and spraining with his face in a toilet vomiting. And while that action had given him certain clarity in the past, he was certain it would not help the current situation in the slightest.

Looking over at Charles, Erik felt a pang of sympathy. The usually reserved young man was filling his glass again, his face a mix between terror, guilt and painful self loathing. Looking inward, Erik realized that he was feeling a similar mix, fueled by a certain revelation that what he was _not_ feeling was angry. Or alone.

There was really only one thing to do about this, thought Erik. And only one way he would be able to approach it.

"I take it those are all your cards? Unless you have any other secrets to unburden?" asked Erik, before Charles could drain another glass with the efficiency of a camel. The glass paused mere finger-widths from Charles' lips.

"No," said Charles, still half eyeing the glass before setting it down on the table. "I mean yes. That's all I’ve got."

"Well then," said Erik, steel reentering his voice. "Then I can say for certain that you should have told me all of this long before I tangled with the mudbank. However…"

"Yes?" said Charles, a bit of child-like hope entering his tone.

"I can understand why you didn't," said Erik, trying to put a smile on his exhausted face.

"Oh, thank god," said Charles, flopping back on the bed in such a huge, teenager-like gesture that it drew a chuckle from Erik.

"That does not mean you are off the hook," said Erik, as Charles looked up at him from the middle of the bed. "Just because you had good reason to be cautious, does not mean that my position has changed. We still need to make sure nothing remains of Shaw, in either of our heads."

"But Erik…" said Charles, half sitting up from the bed, a clearly drunken pout playing over his lips.

"Don't 'But Erik' me," said Erik, his voice firm. "I cannot continue my life with the knowledge that Shaw may still remain, living in me. I've set aide too many things in my hunt for him. If I cannot finish this, I fear that my life will have passed me by. And that includes any chance of ' _caring._ '"

"Oh," said Charles, flopping back on the bed in disappointment. A moment passed, and suddenly he sat up again, a bright and surprised expression on his face." _Oh!_ Does this mean…"

 _"Charles, you have been inside my memories, rummaged deeper in my head that even _I_ can access, and you never picked up that I have loved men before?"_

"But that was different," said Charles, peering at Erik's face. "I never saw anything that would lead me to think that you…"

"Didn't you once tell me you knew everything about me?"

"That was obviously an exaggeration, Erik," said Charles, a petulant scowl on his face. "I had to stop you from leaving _somehow_. But I do remember some strong feelings towards a certain female or two…"

"Now isn't this the pot calling the kettle black, mister 'oh, what a groovy mutation, let me see you panties' Xavier."

"I have never said anything of the sort!"

"To hear Raven tell it, you would trot out that and worse at the slightest provocation. And she's a much more reliable narrator than you."

"That minx," said Charles, a grin playing at his face. Then, as quick as it came, the smile left, leaving Charles' face serious and sincere. "So, does this mean you’re not disgusted with me?"

"No, Charles, I am not disgusted," said Erik, kindly. "If things were different, perhaps I would feel the same way right now. But until Shaw is gone, there is no room in my heart for anything but seeing him gone."

"I suppose I should not have expected anything else," said Charles, heaving a comically large sigh as he sank back in the bed. "But I don't know when or if we'll know enough to make a safe attempt."

"Don't worry Charles," said Erik, a ghost of a his old shark-like grin playing on his face. "I'm not going to try and force you into telepathic brain surgery tonight."

"That's so kind of you."

"That is what tomorrow is for."

"You can't be serious!" said Charles, sitting up quickly enough that the amount of alcohol in his system was evident in his wavering posture. He looked at Erik's face, and quickly flopped back down. "No, of course you are serious."

Erik leaned over, and with a careful hand, poured himself another finger of scotch as he waited for Charles to get a hold of himself. After a few moments of grumbling complaint, Charles peaked around his knees, his eyes slit and his lips pursed.

"You should go get some sleep," said Charles, obviously trying to change the subject. "It's been a stressful day for both of us, and I'll need to go over my notes if you insist on going through with this madness."

"I'll need a hand with that, if you can spare the time," said Erik, gesturing to his battered ankle.

"Actually, you should just sleep here," said Charles, sitting up and squinting his eyes at the piles of books. "I'll be in the library for another couple of hours, I’ll probably end up falling asleep in the side room down there."

"I am not going to kick you out of your own room."

"Actually, I would prefer that we didn't have to wrestle you back to your own room," said Charles, a lopsided smile on his face. "Given my luck tonight, the roof would fall in."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

That night, Erik dreamed.

While to the casual observer, this may not have seemed a huge and terrifying circumstance, it marked one of the many things that had changed about Erik's life. Before that day on the beach, his dreams were rarely remembered, and on the occasion that they lingered into the morning, they were quite normal. Occasional night terrors had plagued him, the nighttime remembrances of a nightmarish childhood, but on the whole, his sleep was simply a brief period of unconsciousness before the next day started.

This was no longer the case.

That evening he dreamed he was looking for a book in a library, on a subject he could not remember. Charles was there, and was tossing the books to the ground and burning them. The students and Moira were there as well, roasting marshmallows over the flames, as he scrambled to find the book before Charles used it for kindling. He got frustrated and tipped over a whole bookshelf, only to have it break open a wall.

Erik walked through the new opening, the books forgotten, into a field that was all torn up by a construction project. Shaw was there, supervising as Emma and the other two mutants were pushing up large metal beams, and Erik knew that when they pushed those beams together, the house would be finished. Using his powers, he pushed the beams around, knocking Shaw's mutants to the ground. When the dust settled, Shaw was gone, but somehow, he had built a house with those building materials. He knew that while it was not the exact same house that Shaw had intended to build, and while looked different from the outside, on the inside it was the same.

In his dream, he walked into the house, and Charles was giving what looked like a lecture to a large group of people, in a traditional lecture hall. While Erik could tell he was speaking loudly from his elevated podium, he couldn't hear Charles. It was as if he was particularly deaf to Charles, but was still able to hear the rusting of the crowd, and his own footsteps. As he approached, Charles stopped talking and the crowd started to applaud. When Erik reached the podium, Charles was distracted by the hundreds of people trying to get his attention. No matter how loud Erik yelled, Charles ignored him, and no matter how much Erik strained, he could not hear anything that Charles said. Soon the crowd surged, and Erik was dragged away from Charles and dumped on a beach that was apparently in the next room.

The beach looked a lot like the one in Cuba, except that it was empty. As Erik walked, he found that the sand went on forever in either direction, the sun never changing position in the sky, no sign of anyone anywhere he looked. Even though the sun was shining, Erik felt himself grow colder and colder, until finally he stopped walking, and sat at the edge of the water, curled up in a ball. As he stared over the ocean, empty of any ships or other islands, he noticed a shadow slowly covering him. He couldn’t seem to turn to see who it was, and his heart raced in fear, the kind of fear that comes from knowing something horrible is going to happen but there isn't a thing you can do about it.

Which was when Erik woke up, covered in terror-sweat, heart racing and breath short. It took him a long couple of minutes to remember where he was. His mind was still racing, but as he looked around Charles' room, he was able to calm his mind enough to feel more in control of his situation. He was safe. Even though his mind refused to believe that.

He got out of bed, his hair all over the place from trashing in the night. As he made his way into the bathroom, he was pleased to find his ankle had mostly sorted itself out during the night. While it was still tender, he could walk on it with only a slight limp. Leaning against the door frame was a cane, which made up for even that. Even though he still felt as if he were half in his dreams, he was at least able to move around on his own.

After cleaning up a little, Erik felt more like himself, but the specter of his dreams still colored the world, making him uneasy. Shaking his head, he knew that his slight feelings of foreboding probably had more to do with the revelations from last night than whatever his addled brain had come up with while he slept. Taking a deep breathe, he exited the bedroom, and started to search the mansion for Charles.

If Charles was surprised to see Erik, walking slowly but steadily into the kitchen, he did not betray it on his face. Charles had spread notebooks, papers, and old dusty tomes all across the counter. Right next to a heavily scribbled in notebook was a pot of thick, black coffee, strong enough that Erik could smell it from the door, coupled with a pair of mugs. With the help of a cane he had found carefully left beside the bed, Erik walked up to the counter and cleared his throat softly.

"I trust you found a little sleep last night?" asked Erik, taking the empty mug and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Charles looked up at him with the distant eyes of a man in a different world. Within a moment, he snapped back, and looked at Erik, fully aware.

"Oh, yes," said Charles, standing up and stretching. "After gathering my papers, I realized that I had gotten farther than I remembered. So I got some rest, and woke up about two hours ago to make sure it all still made sense."

"I hope it does?" said Erik in a questioning tone, glancing over at some half formed scribbles around what looked like a design for some sort of helmet.

"I assure you, it does," said Charles, downing the rest of his coffee in one gulp. "As reckless as I think this may be, have a solid plan for going forward. And fortunately, Hank has anticipated your desire for resolution."

Erik's cup stilled halfway to his mouth. He set it down with a slight thump.

"What does Hank have to do with this?" said Erik, his churning emotions at the idea of Charles sharing their moments with one of the students kept carefully under his calm exterior.

"Oh, I told Hank that I might have a use for equipment that would aid if I got lost in telepathy again," said Charles, turning back to look at Erik with a smile. His expression sobered instantly when he saw the look on Erik's face. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," said Erik, a little too quickly. Charles’ eyes widened in realization.

"I didn't tell Hank why I needed them, or anything about what happened in my head," said Charles, standing and walking over to Erik, his eyes wide and sincere. "I just knew that a situation like this could occur again. We needed to plan for a contingency. The students all knew about my telepathic episode, because Raven filled them in while we were at the hospital."

"Oh," said Erik, his knees feeling a little weak. Trying to rally from his mistaken assumption, Erik put a brave face on and continued. "Well, that’s a relief. So, how has our technological genius helped us out this time?"

"With these head devices," said Charles, pulling the scrap of paper out from the pile. On one side was a full helmet, but as Erik’s eyes traced down the page, he saw that the design became more and more refined, until the helmets were nothing more than metal disks that attached to the skull, connected by a thin wire. "They focus the part of the brain that reacts to telepathy. While we haven't been able to do extensive testing, their low level impulse interference should be all we need. In theory, this should work."

Erik looked at Charles, whose expression was far too bright to be completely honest. Erik could almost feel Charles _willing_ him to not ask any more about the devices. But even though Erik was determined to see this through, he was not foolhardy. Charles was hiding something.

"You must have a backup plan," said Erik. Charles' face lit up in even brighter anticipation.

"Are you worried, Erik? We can always put this off another couple of days…"

"That’s not what I meant. While you clearly enjoy playing the lab rat, you are loath to test things on people other than yourself. And even if you weren’t, you haven't said a thing about calling back Hank to monitor the tests. Which means you have a plan B. Tell me what it is."

Erik tried not to smile as Charles scowled, but he didn't quite keep it off his face. Charles snatched the paper back, and set it on his research. Smoothing the papers, Charles took a long moment, and looked out of the window.

"Emma Frost," he said, wincing at Erik's intake of breath.

"I thought she was locked up in a government holding tank."

"She was until about three weeks after we got back. While we were trying decide what kind of long-term plans to make regarding the school, Raven got it into her head that it wasn't right to leave a fellow mutant in the hands of the CIA. And in addition, she wanted to make sure we could fall off the grid as simply as possible. While I thought her methods were reckless, I supported her. Eventually."

"Good girl," muttered Erik, soft enough that Charles just continued to talk over him.

"While I did some pin point erasing of memories in the handful of CIA agents that knew who we were, Raven snuck in and got rid of the physical files. And while she was at it, she let Ms. Frost free."

"How did Ms. Frost react?"

"At first, she was angry, as Raven wore that cursed helmet of Shaw's in with her," said Charles, his tone making it clear that Frost was not the only one who had some frustrations with the helmet. "So when Raven opened the door, while all the agents dropped with the force of Emma's thought blast, Raven was able to casually escort her out."

"I'm not exactly sure happened after that, but by the time Raven returned, she and Emma seemed to be the best of friends. Emma even stopped by to see if she could help with you."

"And?"

"She was as confused as I was. She had experience with persons who had eventually woken from a coma, but she agreed with me that your brain waves didn't match."

"If she was no help then, why are you calling her in now?"

"I am going to call Emma and see if she'll come check up on us this evening. That way, if Hank's devices don't work, we won't suffer permanent damage waiting for the students to return."

"So, where are we going to attempt this? And when?"

"Given the calibrations that we conducted on the devices, they should function anywhere in the house," said Charles, looking around the room as if he could see the house beyond it. "But given that we’ll to have to lay down in order to not hurt ourselves, I recommend my bedroom."

"That sounds reasonable."

"As for when? As soon as I get hold of Emma…" said Charles, interrupted by a large growl from his midsection. He looked up at Erik, embarrassed. "And perhaps after some breakfast?"

Erik felt a smile pull at his face, and nodded. His mind still churned with a mess of emotions that he wasn't quite ready to examine yet, and the prospect of bringing in the unknown factor of Emma Frost made him uneasy. But Charles' hopeful, almost child-like expression was enough to put him enough at ease that he could wait. For a little while more.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Emma showed up at the mansion just as Charles was finishing the last of the dishes from breakfast. Somehow, a despite lifetime of having meals provided by servants and college administrators, Charles had managed to pick up the finer points of cooking. Erik sat at the table, content with his belly filled with fresh fruit, delicately shredded potato pancakes, and scrambled eggs. When it was clear that Charles had no intention of starting until Emma was installed in the mansion, Erik allowed him to fuss about the kitchen, sneaking peeks at Chalres’ notes while he worked. Erik was amused by this incredibly domestic side of Charles Xavier, genetic genius and brilliant professor, who at the moment had a fine dusting of flour on the right side of his face, and a little drop of what Erik assumed was clotted creme on the tip of his nose.

"I don't suppose you saved any for me?" asked Emma, framed perfectly in the doorframe. Dressed in a white dress that both left everything and nothing to the imagination, Emma stood with her hip cocked slightly to the side, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. Erik felt a surge of anger at seeing her face, still remembering her connection to the man she worked with. He bristled as she strode past him as if she owned the room, and claimed the chair across from him as her own. Either Ms. Frost was above noticing such open hostility, or Erik was less intimidating than he used to be, but the woman's smile stayed as level and crooked as it was when she first appeared. Charles, to his credit, ignored the exchange and opened the fridge.

"I saved you some fruit," said Charles, grabbing a plate from the fridge. "If you'd like anything else, feel free to graze."

"That should be fine, darling," she said, picking up a single grape and popping it into her mouth. "Is there anything I can help out with?"

"No, no," said Charles, smiling kindly down at her, willfully oblivious to Erik's seething. "But I do need to carry the device upstairs. While the headgear is relatively lightweight, the rest of it is not. I'll be back when I have everything in place."

Before Erik of Emma could say anything, Charles was out the door, leaving the two of them sitting at the table. A tense silence filled the air.

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, darling," said Emma, finally looking at Erik. Erik could admit that she was stunning, her blonde hair perfectly framing her face, every natural asset polished to the fullest. She was like an ice sculpture, perfect but cold.

"We might have been enemies," said Erik, his voice tight. "But I don't hate you. Not yet."

"You want to ask me why I would work with Sebastian."

"I wouldn't want to pry," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"Liar," she said, tracing the edge of the plate with a long finger, a gesture obviously calculated to arouse more than the attention of the men she usually conversed with. "Even if I couldn't read you mind, your thoughts are a written like a novel across your face."

"Fine then," said Erik, steepling his fingers as he leaned towards Emma, a nasty smile on his face. "Why did you work with that monster? You obviously know what he did. You had no problem throwing it in my face that night on the boat."

"Sebastian was…a complicated man," said Emma, her perfect brow creasing in thought. "He got me out of a situation where I was in over my head, when I was much younger and less experienced. When we met up years later, I felt I owed him, so I worked with him. Besides that, it was quite profitable for me. And for the record, I didn't examine what I threw at you until much later. You _did_ come at me with a knife."

"My apologies," said Erik, bitingly sarcastic. "But that doesn't make sense. What could possibly have happened that you would be in Shaw's debt?"

Emma rolled her eyes, and waved her hand at Erik. Suddenly he saw Emma, a young girl, connected to machines with wires, crying and struggling against physical and mental pain. Days flashed before his eyes, different only in the indignities that were suffered. When Emma's memories released him, Erik was panting with tears streaming out of his eyes.

"You are not the only one to have suffered," said Emma, scorn heavy in her voice. "After I escaped, Shaw found me and helped me get my feet under me again. When he came back and offered me the world as his queen, I didn't see any reason to turn him down. Though now, I can see that he might have been manipulating me far longer than I imagined."

"Those machines…"

"Yes," she said, her tone tight and sad. "I know how familiar they must look to you. There is quite the possibility that I was played the fool."

"Why are you helping us now?" asked Erik, still shaking her memories from his head. "I would think that with Shaw gone, you'd still be leveraging for World War Three. You seemed to have a lot to gain from his plan."

"I had a lot of time to think while I was being held by the CIA," said Emma, picking another piece of fruit off the plate and nibbling on it. "And despite what most men think when they see me, I am not stupid. Sebastian left me to rot there. While he always had very good explanations for his actions, I started to suspect he was going to replace me when I first saw that helmet."

"I thought it was intended to protect him from Charles?"

"I thought so to, but when I examined the time frame closely, I realized he couldn't have known about Charles when he had it made." She smiled coldly. "When I realized that, I began to see how being around Sebastian had lead me to make bigger and more dangerous decisions. That man was an expert at convincing people to walk his path, each sin greater than the last. At first, the money and the power were tempting, but when I was able to look at it rationally, his plan had pushed past the point of good sense."

"You make him sound like a cult leader."

"That isn't far off," said Emma, wiping some imaginary liquid off the side of her lip. "He inspired great love or hate in everything he touched. And he loved the power that gave him."

"That still doesn't explain why you haven't attempted to follow through on his plans," said Erik. "I have a hard time believing your time locked up gave you a new love of humanity."

"Oh, darling, I don't care if every human dies tomorrow," said Emma, that easy, crafty smile falling again on her face. "We are the superior beings on this planet. But there are many more ways to take over than by killing everyone that disagrees.”

"Such as?"

"Money, darling. And power. Old games with new faces. And having my natural advantages gives me money and power in spades."

"So why are you taking time our of your busy, powerful schedule to play babysitter?"

"Because, we mutants need to either stick together, or wipe each other out," she said, smiling wide enough to show her slightly pointy teeth. "And I don't want to go mind-to-mind against Xavier. Besides, it makes Raven happy."

"Raven? What does she have to do with this?"

"I forget that you weren't 'around' for my escape," Emma said, a wicked smile on her face. "Though Charles was able to help us get out of the CIA compound, it still took Raven and me a good three days to make it back here. She refused to take off Sebastian’s stupid helmet, but we managed to come to an understanding."

"About what, exactly?"

"I’m not sure if you've noticed, but that girl has tremendous potential. So, we talked about mutants, and humans, and she explained to me how she wishes for a world where she could walk down the street as herself. I will admit, the two of us see much more eye to eye than I do with Xavier. While we trekked through the woods to get back to civilization, she was able to walk about in her own skin, and I could see why she cared so much for you other mutants. Fighting the world is so much more appealing when you have allies."

"I suppose…" said Erik, thinking about the lines of pride he had seen in Raven since he had awoken. But then something occurred to him. "But three days? What took you so long?"

Emma smiled and looked down at her plate, her finger tracing those same slow, sultry circles. As she met his eyes, he could see satisfied smugness in her expression. In the briefest of flickers, Erik was caught in the edge of a memory from Emma. White skin against blue, red and blonde hair dangling together, hot, sweaty hands tracing down generous curves. He felt his face redden as he looked at Emma, vaguely appalled.

"You didn't!" said Erik, shocked. Not of the act, surely, for what two people wanted to do together was their own business. But Raven was little sister to the man who passed for Erik’s best friend, and to see her in that way was … unnerving. Even when she had shown up in his bed, the kiss they shared was more chastity than passion.

"We certainly did," she said, sounding immensely satisfied. "And before you try and lecture me about how she's a child, and how could I take advantage, I assure you, If anyone was doing the seducing, it wasn't me. Though I can't say I didn't like the results."

Erik sat in stunned silence until the familiar and welcome sound of Charles’ return shook him out of his shock. With a veiled glance at Emma, he stood turned to meet the other telepath, surprising Charles as he came into view.

"What room did you set up in?" asked Erik, starting to walk slowly towards the steps.

"Uh…my bedroom…" said Charles, caught off guard. "Wait, is something wrong?"

"Nothing!" said Erik, fully aware that Emma was stifling laughter behind him. "I'm sure you have some things to tell Ms. Frost, and it will take me longer to get upstairs. I'll see you when you are done."

Erik hurried on, and before Charles knew it, he was out of sight. Turning to Emma, Charles looked at her with an expression of confusion.

"What was that about?" he asked, reaching down to grab the now empty plate off the table and set it by the sink.

"I'm sure I couldn’t say," said Emma, her eyes exaggeratedly wide and innocent. Somehow, Charles knew better than to push.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Charles reentered his bedroom, Erik was sitting on the edge of the bed, one of the newly designed head-pieces in his hand. Instead of a full head covering, the new design was compact, a circlet of wires and metal plates. Four delicate wires came out of the back, connected to a large generator. Charles had placed one on either side of the bed.

"Have you tried it on yet?" asked Charles, keeping his tone light to try and cover for his sinking stomach.

"I don't share your desire to hook myself up to something that looks like it could power the Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Plaza," said Erik, directing a pointed glance towards the large generator on the side of the bed. "If I am going to scramble my brains, I would like it to be doing something more productive than satisfying my."

"You make a fair point," said Charles, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. Reaching over to the second circlet, he grabbed it and placed it on his head. "But I assure you, these are, for the most part, harmless."

"For the most part?"

"They’re rigged with a slight electrical charge," said Charles, pointing to the wires hanging out the back. "But it's more like a shock of static electricity than an electrical socket. They’re an ingenious design."

"You only say that because Hank came up with them," said Erik, tracing the solder points along the brim.

"Actually, Hank only modified these," said Charles. "Or more accurately, extrapolated them from an existing object. We came up with these studying Shaw's helmet."

"Really," said Erik, only by force of will not dropping the mass of wires on the spot.

"Whoever designed Shaw's helmet had a sophisticated grasp on how telepathy accesses and effects the mind," said Charles, pointing at the plates on the back of his head. "Apparently, with either a low-level electrical charge or a specifically dense kind of metal on these two points here, you can block about half of the amount of telepathic interference. If you add another set of plates just behind the temples, you block almost all of it."

"Almost all?" asked Erik, noticing that there were only four plates on the circlet.

"Well, yes," said Charles, pulling the circlet off. "There is something about the total helmet that blocks all telepathic sense. Hank is hoping to get it pinned down in the next couple months, but he got sidetracked getting these ready."

"What exactly do these do?"

"As I explained before, they block telepathic impulses, but they do so by electrifying these plates after a set number of hours. It works much like an alarm clock, but instead of a loud ring, it sets up a telepathic wall."

"And what's stopping them from overloading and frying us?"

"Extensive testing, and this piece of rubber right here," said Charles, pointing to a long black band connected to the battery pack. "If anything goes wrong with these generators, this will break the connection. They won't work for their intended purpose…"

"But that’s why you have Emma," said Erik, nodding to himself. With careful fingers, he fitted the circlet around his head. "Well, we aren't getting any younger. Let's try this."

"Are you sure, Erik? We can wait…"

"Charles." Erik's single word was as firm as any door. Charles sighed to himself, and walked around the bed to lay on the far side of the mattress. Patting his hand on the bed, he looked up at Erik.

"Just lay back, and I will ease you into this."

"I suppose thinking of England is out of the question."

"Shut up," said Charles, as he laid back and closed his eyes. "Hopefully it will all be over soon."

Erik chuckled to himself as he settled back into the pillows, and willed himself to relax. He sank back, trying to ignore the underlying hum of the generator he was connected to. As the seconds turned into minutes, he started to grow more impatient. He opened his eyes, with a caustic remark on this tongue.

His rebuke to Charles died as it became abruptly clear that he was quite alone. And the bed was no longer where it should be.

The bed sat in the middle of a field of wildflowers; the pinks, yellows, and blues more vibrant than life. Swinging his feet off the side of the bed, Erik noticed the plants parted before his footfall, leaving his bare soles to touch the ground.

"Where is this place," said Erik, mostly to himself. Looking around, he saw no evidence of Chalres anywhere. Erik considered yelling for him, but he was not so much panicked as confused. Looking down to examine the ground, Erik found it strange that he didn't quite recognize the exact plants. They all looked almost like plants he had seen, but with something slightly off: a bit like daisies, but the leaves were rounder and more smooth than anything he had ever seen in the wild, and besides which, we was not aware of wild daisies that grew in these colors.

Overhead, a bird screamed, startling Erik out of his examination. As he looked up, the bird circled three times and flew off into the distance. Without quite understanding why, Erik started to follow the bird, leaving behind the empty bed. Putting one foot in front of the other, he walked the bird's path, the flowers parting in his wake.

As he walked, the landscape remained the same, flowers as far as the eye could see. It seemed like Erik was lost in an eternal field. And as hard as he tried, he couldn't quite remember what he was looking for. The flowers grew slightly taller, but not fast enough for him to notice until they were tickling his knees with every step. And no matter how many steps he took, the bird seemed to remain the same distance away.

After over a thousand steps, a door appeared on the horizon. Erik felt drawn to it, like an insect to light. Something about the door reminded him of something. Like why he was here…

"Here you are," said a familiar voice. Turning his head, Erik saw Charles standing behind him, a roguish smile on his face, his head tilting away from the door. "Why don't we go over there?"

"Charles?" asked Erik, taking a half step towards him. But something was wrong. Charles' smile was sly and his eyes were cold. Erik felt like some sort of insect, which Charles was watching with a mix of wry amusement and child-like cruelty. "Where were you?"

"I've always been right here, Erik," replied Charles, beckoning with one hand, gesturing Erik to come closer. Instead of welcome, Erik felt a sense of unease sweep through him. Turning away from Charles, he looked back at the door, noticing that every moment he stood still, the door seemed to be pulling farther away.

"Don't leave me, Erik," said Charles, still crooking his finger, his eyes narrowing in uncharacteristic anger. "I need you here, with me."

"I think this door is important," said Erik, walking toward it. With every step the sky darkened, and a cold wind picked up, pulling loose petals from the wildflowers, like dust clouds in the desert.

"Erik!" yelled Charles, his voice booming like thunder, echoing in the distance. "Come. Here."

Erik reached the door, the wind tearing at his clothes. It was almost as if the air was coming from the door, trying to push him away. He tried to open the door, and was shocked to find that the knob was so cold it burned. He would have let go. But as the wind grew stronger and the sky grew darker, Erik knew that if he was going to get this door open, he had to try now.

As he pulled the door, darkness bubbled out of the door frame, like smoke billowing out of a chimney. Erik was blinded by the darkness, but the door opened and he stumbled through, and inside he could sense something was different. The ground seemed to be less springy, and the air was still and more stale. As Erik's eyes cleared, he saw he was someplace new, yet similarly unidentifiable.

Instead of a field or wildflowers, Erik stood in a simple rustic cabin. In the center of the room was a long table with three bowls of differing sizes on top. As Erik stepped towards the table to investigate what the bowls held, he heard a muffled thump behind him. He turned, and he saw that the doorway had vanished, leaving behind a blank log-filled wall. Erik walked back towards where the door used to be, and looked closely at the ground and walls. Nothing had been disturbed. It was as if the door had never been there.

"There you are, Erik," said a familiar voice from the room. While Erik was almost entirely sure it was Charles, something about it still sounded off. Cold.

Erik turned to see Charles, standing with one hip leaning against the table, his eyes the same distant strangeness that they had been in the field. If Erik could have, he would have stepped away, but soon Charles closed in on him and placed one hand on his shoulder.

"Erik, you need to come with me," said Charles, the hand tightening almost possessively. "Lets go back outside. Away from here."

"I think there is something in this place," said Erik, feeling more and more uncomfortable with the look that Charles was giving him. Nothing seemed right about this.

"There's nothing here," said Charles, his other hand moving to the side of Erik's neck, in a gesture that Erik assumed was meant to be comforting, but in fact was raising all the signals in Erik’s blood, making him feel trapped and controlled rather than calmed.

"Charles, what are you doing?" asked Erik, stepping away from the other man, but not far enough to dislodge Charles' hands. "Get your hands off me!"

"Unbelievable," said Charles, his voice echoing through the large room as though he were speaking from a long distance away. "If you would only come with me, you and I are going to have a lot of fun."

Erik felt his body grow cold. Suddenly, everything he was looking for came back to him in a wave. Shaw. They were here to get rid of Shaw. As he watched, Charles' eyes shifted, from the intense blue Erik was used to, to the muddy green eyes Erik still saw in his nightmares.

"Shaw," spat Erik, breaking away from the vice-like grip with a strong shove. Charles' form stumbled back into the table, spilling one of the still-full bowls across the tabletop. "I knew you couldn't be gone."

"How could I leave you, my monster," said the Charles’ voice, fading from view with a tight-lipped smile. "We're going to have so much more fun."

"Charles!" yelled Erik, striding through the room, looking around for any clue as to where Charles could be. The bowls seemed to be holding something like oatmeal, the largest of which was now running onto the floor. There was a stairway in the corner of the room, and Erik was almost sure he heard a muffled thump coming from above him. Slowing to a walk, he followed the sound up the stairs to the second floor of the cabin.

The entire floor was a single bedroom, with three beds all in a row. They all looked as if they had been slept in, and none of them were made. Before Erik could examine them closer, the smallest bed, which was farthest from the stairs, thumped against the floor. Quickly and quietly Erik dropped to the floor to look underneath the furniture.

Charles lay there, tied up and gagged, tears running from his eyes and blood running from his nose. From the heavy shadows under the bed, Erik thought his clothes looked as if something had torn at them, and one of his eyes looked like it may be turning into a shiner. As soon as Charles saw Erik's face peaking under the bed, his eyes widened, and he tried to inch away, obviously afraid.

"Charles, it's ok," said Erik, quickly moving to the side of the bed. With a swift tug, he pulled Charles out, and his strong fingers quickly went to loosened the gag. "I just saw Shaw. We need to get out of here."

"How do I know who you are?" asked Charles, fear and pain clear in his voice. Erik continued on to the ropes, trying to ignore the little flinches that Charles made every time Erik touched skin.

"I can't help you there, Charles," said Erik, narrowing his eyes as he came across the knot keeping Charles' hands together. "But let me at least get you free, and then you can make your own judgments. The mind is your specialty, after all."

It took some time, but eventually Erik freed Charles from his bondage. He tried not to stare at the recognizable patterns of bruises up Charles' neck, or the harsh scratches across Charles' shoulders. By the time Erik got the last of the ropes untied, Charles had pulled himself together somewhat, and was able to look Erik in the face.

"I think it’s really you this time," he said, gently holding his hand out to touch Erik's cheek. Erik was grateful to notice the touch felt familiarly tender. "When I entered this mindscape, Shaw was ready. He looked like you."

"Yes, he tried that same trick with me,” said Erik, helping Charles to his feet.

"You," started Charles, before stopping himself and shaking his head. "I mean _he_ , led me to this cabin. He told me that we should be looking for patterns we recognized. I noticed the three bowls of porridge on the table, and thought I had found a pattern."

"What kind of pattern?"

"This is obviously the cabin fro the fairytale Goldilocks and the three bears."

Erik looked around at the bedroom, and almost smacked his forehead. Of course it was. It had been so long since he had read any children's stories that it hadn’t immediately to mind, but once Charles pointed it out, it all fell into place.

"In any case," said Charles, helping Erik pull off the last of the ropes. "I thought if this was the cabin, we should go look in the final bed to see if we could find the home intruder. But once we got up here, he attacked."

"What did he do?” asked Erik, giving Charles a surreptitious once-over.

"At first, he hit me in the back of the head with something heavy," said Charles, his voice tight and afraid, as he rubbed the base of his neck. "I was dazed, and I couldn't remember why I was there. Then he fell on me like some kind of beast. I mean, he looked like you, but he acted like an animal. I tried to keep him off, but his hands were all over me, curling like claws and ripping at my clothes. I tried to get away, but he hit me. Hard. No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn't escape."

"Charles…" said Erik, turning the other man to look at him. "Did he hurt you?"

"Other than this black eye, no," said Charles, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I don’t know why not. He pinned me down and was reaching for my neck, as if to strangle me, and then he just stopped. Before I knew it, he had tied me up and tossed me under here. He lay on the bed above me for awhile and ranted, telling me that I was a fool for trying to come after him. Then I heard something downstairs, and you came up the steps."

"Did he say anything else?" said Erik, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the room. There didn't seem to be any other exits.

"I don't remember!" snapped Charles, pushing away. "But we have to get out of here before he comes back!"

"Charles," said Erik, looking at the other man in concern. "How much _do_ you remember?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, when I woke up," said Erik, his eyes widening in terrified realization. "I couldn't even remember why I was here. I couldn't really remember who I was. I think Shaw is deliberately messing with our minds."

"Our minds?" said Charles, in a faraway voice. Erik resisted the urge to shake him.

"Shaw is making it hard for us to think. This is your expertise, my telepathic friend. You need to pull yourself together!"

"Tele-what?" asked Charles, his expression filled with confusion. "And who is Shaw? What are you talking about?"

"He's not going to be able to help you," said a voice from the darkness. Erik turned with a snarl, trying to put himself between Charles and the voice. As he turned, Shaw walked into the light, his face still as smug as ever.

With a low rumble, the bedroom setting melted away, leaving the three of them standing in a blank void. The void was not entirely empty, even though the ground they stood on seemed to be floating in an undifferentiating sea of blackness. Hovering above them was a large, ornate clock, with five minutes left until both hands hit twelve. As Erik looked at the clock, an icy chill crept up his spine. There was something unnerving about each tick, as if the noise reverberated in Erik's bones. Looking back at Charles, he saw the other man looking around like a panicked rabbit, looking like he could have a heart attack at any moment.

"I was hoping to keep you both calm while we waited for what comes next," said Shaw, his eyes narrowing. "But it looks like I underestimated your mental strength, my little monster. While little friend here needed to be trapped in familiar patterns and memories, I had figured that you could be kept in a simple blank loop. Are you sure you don't have some kind of secondary mental mutation?"

"You are not going to get away with this," said Erik, grabbing Charles and pulling him to his feet, trying to calm the other man down. Charles huddled into himself, his eyes confused and glazed, unhearing and uncaring. Erik strode towards Shaw, only to be stopped by some sort of invisible wall that appeared to separate them.

"Could you been any more cliché?" asked Shaw, grinning like a maniac. "Of course I'm going to get away with it. I only have to hold out for half an hour, and I'll have won."

"I swear, as long as I have breath in my body…"

"Well, then it's good that my plan has no sure requirement," said Shaw, sitting back in the darkness, as if he was lounging on an invisible throne. The seconds on the clock kept ticking by. "All I have to do is wait for dear, sweet Emma to come check on you. Then this mess can be cleaned up quite quickly."

Erik felt his blood turn cold. In his mind's eye, he saw Emma reaching down to check on the two of them, and being overwhelmed. The idea of Shaw's terrifying legacy housed in the body of Emma was enough to make Erik push at the wall again, as futile as he knew it would be.

"It's all your fault, you know." Shaw continued, looked down at his hands, cleaning some probably imaginary dirt from his nails.

"How can this possibly be my fault?" said Erik, looking around the space, trying to see if there was anything he could use. Unfortunately, other than Charles, the clock, and Shaw, the room was empty.

"If you had just left the telepath alone when I first invaded his mind," said Shaw, an over-large smile on his face and his tone condescending. "I would have a new body already, instead of being split between the two of you."

"But…Emma was your friend. Your _ally_!"

"She was a useful tool at best. Too independent to trust, too trusting to be useful as anything else. But as a host, she will be most exceptional."

As Shaw pointed upwards, the whole world shook, causing Erik and Charles to fall backwards. While Erik seemed to fall into a chair, invisible but solid, Charles kept falling back until he was completely prone, hovering above the floor. From where Erik sat, he saw that Charles' hands pushed against an invisible box that surrounded him, keeping him in some sort of translucent coffin. Shaw stood then, and waved his hand up to the clock, with only a minute to go before midnight. Erik tried to stand and run to him, but a force pushed against his chest, keeping him pinned.

"I wish we could play at this longer, my young tool," said Shaw, looking up with a smile. As he spoke, his image faded into the darkness. "But you've more than proved that as long as your mind is your own, you are a threat to me. Who knows? Perhaps in my new host, I'll be able to fix that troubling defect."

Erik felt his blood grow cold. He strained forward, gaining ground as Shaw faded into the darkness. With a jolt, he stumbled towards Charles' floating form, and tried to hold on. His hand went right through whatever force was keeping Charles boxed in, but he couldn’t seem to move his friend.

"Charles!" said Erik, yelling down at the man. Charles was too lost in panic to hear him or respond. "Charles, you need to remember who you are! We don't have much time. You’re our only chance to get out of this!"

Charles obviously screamed something at that point, but no noise escaped his mouth. As Erik held his shoulders, Charles' eyes began to flutter shut, as if the oxygen in his invisible box was running out. As Charles’ chest heaved in and out, Erik could almost see the lines of what looked like a crystal coffin form around him, just beyond the point where Charles' hands were pressing.

Wait a minute. This was starting to look familiar.

"Crystal coffin…" said Erik, glancing at the clock, as it ticked closer to midnight. Looking down at Charles, his skin as pale as snow, his eyes squinting with tears, and his lips as red as blood, a glimmer of an idea sparked in the back of Erik’s mind. While Snow White had never been Erik's favorite story, the similarities were impossible to ignore. Without examining his logic too closely, Erik grabbed either side of Charles' face and pulled him into a kiss.

For a moment, Erik thought his heart stopped. Charles' lips shied away for a moment, but Erik’s hands help fast. Within seconds, Charles registered what was happening, and his mouth softened and started kissing Erik back. Charles' hands, no longer gripping his head, reached around and grabbed Erik, clawing desperately at his back. For the first time in years, Erik felt something long buried stir in his chest.

A huge crash resounded around the void. Startled, Erik broke the kiss and saw that the large Cinderella-like clock had cracked down the center.

Erik turned back to Charles, only to be shocked by the sight of Charles’ eyes glowing with a pure white light.

"I remember," said Charles, and he gestured at the Darkness. As he moved his hands, the gloom dissolved. Beams of light poured from his fingertips and banished the Darkness. The sound of screaming filled the air, deafening Erik as he watched the darkness fall away.

" _No!_!" howled Shaw, appearing just behind Erik. Before he could react, Shaw grabbed Erik in a chokehold, using him as a shield between himself and Charles.

"That isn't going to work, Shaw," said Charles, his voice almost preternaturally calm. "I remember what I am now."

"I will not be defeated by a pair of _infants_ ," yelled Shaw, gripping Erik's neck tighter. Erik clawed at Shaw's arms, but it was as if his feet couldn't find purchase. His vision began to dim as Shaw continued. "I have lived for thousands of years! It can't end now!"

"Everything ends Shaw. Even you."

With that, Charles sent a beam of light through Erik and Shaw’s bodies, blasting both of them with the power of his mind. Erik's vision dimmed as Shaw's arms, instead of releasing under the onslaught, only tightened. Shaw pulled them both out of the light, and Erik could feel Shaw trying to sink into his back, much like the coin sank into Shaw's brain, sliver by painful sliver. If Erik could have drawn a breath, he would have screamed.

"You are my tool," Shaw hissed, as Erik rapidly lost the fight against unconsciousness. "And I am you master!"

"Not anymore," Erik growled, with the last of his breath. He let himself go limp, he felt Shaw stumble. Sensing this was his last opportunity, Erik planted his feet, grabbed Shaw's arms, and slipped him directly into the beam of light.

As Shaw's body came into contact with the light, it shattered, the pieces hovering in the air. Erik stumbled forward, gasping for air. He fell to his hands and knees, each gulp of air shaking him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Shaw’s shattered remains hovering in the light, swirling in an almost vortex-like pattern. In a single moment, all the slivers burst into flame, burning almost instantly to ash. Only once every shard was destroyed did Charles lower his hand, letting the beam flicker out. As the beam faded, a strong wind came from every corner, and even the ashes were scattered.

"We did it!" said Erik, turning to Charles with a face-splitting grin. However, when he turned, he felt the smile fall right off his face.

Charles was translucent, his smile broad but sad. As Erik scrambled to his feet and took a step towards him, Charles floated away, like a water mirage on a highway. Erik started to run after him, his mind racing. Erik wasn't fading. He seemed just as solid as he had been the moment before. As he ran, the lights began to fade, leaving him alone in the dark.

"Charles!" said Erik, panic tight in his chest, eyes stinking with unshed tears. "We won, Charles! You can't just leave!"

I'm doing nothing of the sort. > >said a familiar voice inside Erik's head. However, it is time for you to wake up. >>

Erik's eyes flew open, and he was sitting on Charles' bed, the familiar circlet pinching into his brow. He instantly noticed two things. First, Charles was kneeling beside the bed, a weary but happy smile on his face. Second, the sun had set, and it was full dark out.

"It's good to see you awake," said Charles, standing up stiffly.

"How long have I been out?"

"Only about twenty minutes after I woke up," replied Charles, as he pulled the arm chair to the edge of the bed. Erik, moving carefully, removed his circlet and sat up. "I sent Emma home."

"Is she ok?"

"She’s fine," said Charles, his smile turning into a wry grin. "In fact, I'm not sure she was in any danger at all. In the moments before Shaw clouded my mind, I apparently managed to get a message to her to warn her of Shaw's trap. Not that I remember doing anything of the sort."

"So, time was never of the essence?" said Erik, pushing himself up in the bed. He fingered the sheets, trying to ground himself in the tactile sensation.

"I wouldn't say that," said Charles, still looking carefully at Erik's face. "Once Shaw realized Emma wasn't coming, I'm sure he would have had another plan. He was devilishly clever when it came having a plan B."

"Speaking of backup plans," said Erik, glancing over at the circlet. "Why didn't the machine work the way it was supposed to? Shouldn't it have woken us up hours ago?"

"I have to assume Shaw somehow used his mutant power to fry the connectors," said Charles, pointing at two spots of melted rubber. "He effectively used the failsafe against the machine."

"But how could he have done that? He didn’t have a physical body."

"I have no idea," said Charles, dragging his fingers through his hair. "But it couldn’t have been a coincidence. Thank goodness this is the last time we will have to deal with Shaw. He was entirely too good at playing people against each other."

"You are sure he's really gone?" asked Erik, surprised as how unsteady his voice sounded. Charles took his hand, and holding it firmly, looked directly into Erik's eyes.

"Shaw's gone," said Charles, obviously willing Erik to believe him. "And even if my skills were suspect, Emma checked both of us over for any lingering traces, and she declared us clean."

Erik leaned back against the headboard, unsure of how to feel. A week ago, he was trying to find peace with Shaw's death. Yesterday, he planned to kill him again. Now, he didn't quite know what to think.

Before Erik could get lost in a self-reflective spiral, Charles cleared his throat softly, and caught Erik's eyes.

"So," said Charles, examining Erik's face for something. "Why did you kiss me?"

"Oh," said Erik, feeling his cheeks redden under Charles' piercing gaze. "That. Well, with the clock ticking down, and considering the grand theatrics of Shaw's whole plan, I figured invoking fairy-tale logic couldn’t hurt. You know, kiss the princess and the spell is broken? "

"I'm not even going to ask why I was the princess," said Charles, half under his breath. Transferring himself from the chair to the bed, Charles placed his hand on Erik's knee. "However, that’s not precisely what I was asking, so allow me to rephrase. What does that kiss mean for us?"

Erik stared at Charles, his eyes wide and filled with a guarded wonder, and he realized something important. Maybe the kiss had meant something more to him than l last ditch attempt at escape. Looking over at Charles now, he felt something he wasn't quite sure he understood. He wasn't sure he needed to just yet.

Without over thinking it, Erik opened his arms to Charles, and was slightly startled at the speed with which the other man was in his arms, fell into his embrace.

"I can't promise anything," said Erik, feeling his thoughts starting to run away with him. A thousand excuses, defenses, and rebuffs raced through his mind. He tried to keep it simple, and to no trip over his own words . "I wasn't kidding when I said it's been a long time for me. For feeling things."

"I don't need a promise, Erik," said Charles, settling against Erik's shoulder, his voice filled with hope and fear. "I don't even need a plan. I just need to know if you want to try."

"Then yes, " said Erik, his heart beating loud enough that he was sure Charles could hear it. "I do want to try. I want to try with you."

Charles' arms tightened almost painfully, momentarily blocking Erik's ability to draw a breath. Even after Charles let go, Erik was still breathing uneasily, the blood roaring in his ears.

Whatever Erik expected, it wasn’t for Charles to pull him back into the bed, breaking their embrace to just lie there, looking into each others' eyes.

As they smiled at each other, their hands together, not kissing, barely touching, Erik could feel the beginning of something that he had forgotten even existed.


End file.
